Justified

by Carolyn Arnold

  “Adrian Unger.”

  He was the third on Claire’s list of former business partners.

  “Anyway, things were looking good, profits were turning around,” Allison began. “We were happy. At least I thought we were. But I came home to find him in bed with that…that slut.” Her voice fractured from emotion. She took a few breaths and said, “She ruined my marriage. She took my husband, my best friend, from me.” A tear ran down a cheek, which she was quick to wipe away. “Now, I did love him. He was the last man I ever will.” She looked in Madison’s eyes. “I thought that if I took up with Claire’s husband, Darren—this was after my divorce went through—it would hurt her like she had hurt me.” Allison sobbed and held the back of a hand to her nose. “And this is where life took another shitty turn. They weren’t actually married!” She glanced at Madison. “I take it that part isn’t news to you.”

  Madison shook her head.

  Allison lowered her hand. “Anyway, when I told Claire about me and Darren sleeping together, she laughed at me. Laughed. I’ll never forget that.”

  “Why did you keep working for her? Why not get as far away from her as you could?”

  “I just figured one day I’d find a way to get even.” Her eyes matched with Madison. “I never murdered her. But I thought if I could somehow touch her where it would hurt, I’d feel better. I thought it would be Darren, but then I was enlightened. It was her pocketbook. Money. That was the only way to hurt her. So while I made a buck cleaning for her, I tried to come up with something.”

  “How many years did you—”

  “Too many. I could never contrive something that would get to her, hurt her enough.”

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Just one minute.” Madison walked to the door and opened it to Cynthia.

  She handed a folder to Madison. “Your results.”

  “Thanks.”

  As Cynthia walked away, Madison peeked at the report. She had to let Terry know, but she was close to getting something out of Allison. She went back into the room. “Sorry about the interruption.”

  “It’s okay. I was pretty much finished anyway.”

  “So you never came up with anything to hurt her financially,” Madison said, hoping to get Allison to pick up where she’d left off.

  “Unfortunately, no. I just thought of something, though.” She looked straight at Madison. “I can’t believe I’m doing this… I might be able to help you find her killer. That bitch deserves to go without justice. She didn’t know of it…”

  “I’m not defending in any way what happened to you, Claire, and your husband. But it was him that made the commitment to you, not Claire. Your husband was the one who broke a promise.” Madison wasn’t sure why she had been motivated to say all this.

  “I know.” Fresh tears fell down Allison’s cheeks. “There’s something you might not know. She was in business with someone at the time she died and sleeping with him, too. That seemed to be her MO. She never said his name around me, but I do know that she keeps her current business agreements in a safe-deposit box. Maybe if she was getting ready to screw him over…”

  “He could have preemptively killed Claire over it.”

  “She’s probably got all the originals there, too, for the older businesses, for that matter. I know she kept most of it electronically.” She noticed the question in Madison’s eyes. “Don’t ask me how, I won’t tell you. Anyway, she keeps the key to the deposit box behind a ceiling tile in her office. Three in from the doorway, four to the right, as you walk in.”

  “Thank you.”

  Allison nodded.

  “Which bank was the box at?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Madison peered into Allison’s eyes and she was telling the truth. “Okay, you’re free to go. Just don’t leave town until this is all over in case we have more questions.”

  “Of course.” Allison dried her cheeks and went to get up. “Oh, and I almost forgot. I had heard her on the phone one day, and she was going by a different name. You might find that the safe-deposit box is in the name of Angie Carter.”

  “Angie Carter?”

  “Yeah, don’t ask me where she got the name.” Allison left the room.

  RANDAL TAPPED THE FACE OF his wristwatch. “How much time does it take for your lab to get results?”

  “You have somewhere more important to be?” Terry asked.

  Someone knocked on the door. Terry answered it to Madison and slipped out into the hall with her.

  “It’s about damn time. I’ve been singing and dancing in there,” he began. “But I must say, he’s looking pretty guilty, Maddy. He’s a chronic liar about everything. It wouldn’t even surprise me if he’s a hunter and that he hunted caribou in Newfoundland.”

  “He didn’t do it.”

  “What? Everything adds up.”

  Madison handed him the file she’d gotten from Cynthia. “Unfortunately, his DNA doesn’t. He matched the condoms but not the trace from the slash or the vaginal swab. We have to let him go.”

  “Crap.”

  “Yeah… Shit.”

  “WELL IT’S BEEN NICE GETTING to know you, Detective.” Darren waved good-bye to Madison with a smile of redemption on his face. “Anytime, though, you want to try out a ménage à trois call me, and I’ll arrange it.”

  “Angie Carter,” she blurted out. Darren and Claire went back a long way and maybe the name would mean something to him.

  “What did you say?” Darren walked back to her.

  “Angie Carter. Does that name sound familiar to you?”

  Terry was watching her profile, likely wondering who this woman was, as she hadn’t filled him in on the name or the safe-deposit box yet.

  “That’s my mother’s maiden name.” Darren pressed his brows. “Why are you asking about her?”

  So Claire took his mother’s name as her assumed identity. Why? Maybe she and Terry would figure it out and maybe they wouldn’t. Madison smiled at Darren. “You might want to go home for a shave. Good day, Mr. Taylor.” She turned her back on him and walked away.

  Terry caught up with her. “What was that all about? Who is Angie Carter?”

  -

  Chapter 35

  “SO WHY WOULD CLAIRE USE Darren’s mother’s name?” That was Terry’s response when Madison enlightened him on how she happened upon Angie Carter in the first place.

  Madison and Terry were on the way to Claire’s house, but traffic wasn’t moving quickly. Another snow squall warning was in effect and falling snow was already making a mess of the roads. Too much coming down in too short a time, and the city couldn’t keep up no matter how “prepared” they were for it.

  “We might never know why. Let’s just hope we find the key where Allison said it would be.” Madison tapped her hand on the steering wheel. “What is it with the freakin’ traffic today?”

  “All I know is people see a flake and they all panic and drive like old women.”

  “Yeah, and this isn’t one flake or a light dusting of snow. Lucky us.” She had thought about stopping in at the apartment to check on Hershey, but at this rate, it wasn’t feasible. She needed to get that key in her hand. The one thing she dwelled on was the fact that she didn’t know what bank in the city housed the box. Hopefully, the key would have the bank’s name or an identifying mark on it.

  Terry looked over at her. “I still think they’re all connected somehow.”

  “But all you mean Darren, Darcy, and Allison?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Everything just seems too…” He stopped, and the way his face was contorting, he was searching for the right word.

  “Connected?” Madison laughed. “If so, I agree. It’s almost as if everyone in Claire’s world knew each other and were involved. Like a daytime drama.”

  “Pretty much. Everyo
ne sleeping with everyone—”

  “And is it just me or is everyone beautiful, too?”

  Terry looked at her with disbelief. “Beautiful? I’m not sure how Darren Taylor would like that description.”

  “I’m sure he’d take it. Besides his ego’s large enough for a few people.” If she wasn’t in a department car, she’d blare the horn at the slow-moving driver in front of her, but she wasn’t completely out of options. She glanced at Terry and smirked when she saw the reflection in his eyes. He knew what was coming… She turned on the lights and sirens. “That’s right, dumbass. Outta the way.”

  “SHE SAID IT WAS THREE IN, three to the right? There’s a vent there. Doesn’t make much sense.” Terry was looking up at the ceiling in Claire’s home office.

  “No, three in and four to the right. Calm down, Casanova.”

  He looked at her. “Thank God you don’t call me that often.”

  “Well I wouldn’t want to wear it out.”

  “Yet you have no problem when it comes to my shoulder?”

  She grinned at him. “Nope, no problem at all.”

  Terry went up the ladder and shifted the tile aside. “Strange to have ceiling tiles on the main level of a house. Normally people put them in basements.”

  “Maybe the original ceiling wasn’t that pretty so she had a drop one put in.”

  “Or more likely the place was electrical heat at one time, and then when it was converted to forced air room was needed for ductwork. Dropped ceilings are cheaper. Not that she really needed to worry about money.”

  “Now who’s the smarty?”

  “Me. Always.”

  “You do realize all I’d have to do is shake this ladder,” she teased and looked at him menacingly.

  “Don’t you dare!” Terry’s voice was riddled with panic.

  “Afraid of heights, Casanova?” Madison was laughing.

  “We’ll see who will be laughing at the next bloody murder scene.”

  Her expression fell into a flat line. “Why would that bother me?”

  “You must think I’m really dumb—” he put a hand up into the opening “—I think I feel something.”

  She was happy he had continued searching for the key without becoming fixated on her fear. “Did you find it?”

  Terry pulled his hand down from the ceiling tile and held a key pressed between his thumb and index finger. “We got it.” He smiled at her.

  “Does it say which bank on it?”

  He gave her a dirty look. “Seeing as I’ve had all this time to look at it, examine it in depth…”

  “Stop being sarcastic. Give it here.” She put out her hand, palm up, and wriggled her fingers.

  He stepped down the ladder. “I risk my life by climbing the ladder and you’re going to claim the find now?” He held the key out for her and pulled back just before she reached it. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, Terry. We need that box.”

  “And we’ll get there.” He turned the key over, likely searching for any identifying markers. “No name, but we have a number and a logo. It looks somewhat familiar… Here, take a look.” He handed the key off to her now.

  Madison turned over the key as Terry had and was hoping she could conjure answers.

  “And Allison knew about all this but not which bank the box was at?” Terry sounded skeptical.

  “That’s right.”

  “Huh. Didn’t know or didn’t want to tell you?”

  “Why would she tell me everything else and hold that back?” Madison cocked her head to the side.

  “Are you two good friends now or something?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” That was Madison’s first reaction to the thought, and technically they weren’t good friends or anywhere close, but she had connected with Allison on a level.

  She could sympathize with Allison’s situation, that of having feelings for someone who was incapable of reciprocating. The last few days that had passed in silence from Blake only cemented the fact that love was a fabrication invented to make one feel better, or worse. And he hadn’t even reached out to her after she’d run into him at Starbucks with another woman. She really had to let him go.

  Madison focused on the key. “I’m sure Cynthia can help us narrow down the bank. Maybe she has some sort of database she could go on or something.”

  “A DATABASE FOR KEYS?” CYNTHIA looked at Madison as if she was out of her mind.

  “So there’s nothing you can do for us?” Madison hovered over Cynthia’s shoulder as she worked at analyzing evidence of some sort. None of it looked familiar, though, and it must have been for another case.

  “I didn’t say that. Let me see the key.” Cynthia held her hand out and Madison placed it in her palm. Cynthia took a look at it. “Okay, just like I thought. See that number?” She pointed at it.

  “Yes, we saw that. Is that the box number?” Madison asked.

  Cynthia shook her head. “That would be the serial number or model of key. If I type this number in online, we might get back the manufacturer of the key.”

  “I’m not sure how that will help us.”

  Cynthia looked at Terry. “She really has no patience at all, does she?”

  Terry said, “Nope.”

  “Come on, guys. We need what’s in that box now.”

  Cynthia glanced at Terry again, the meaning behind which Madison couldn’t quite decipher. Cynthia then headed to her computer and keyed in the number. A few seconds later she was pointing at the screen. “There. Look, I’m brilliant. This key was manufactured by Birmingham Safes for their Platinum series.”

  “Okay, so now we just have to find out which bank ordered those keys in Stiles.” Madison paced a few steps.

  “Assuming the box is in the city,” Terry said.

  Madison turned to him. “You always have to point out the negative, don’t you?”

  “I’m the negative one?”

  Madison disregarded Terry’s remark. “Unfortunately, calling the banks again may be the only choice we have.”

  “No one had a safe-deposit box under Claire,” Terry fired at her.

  Madison waited for it to sink in.

  “Oh, right...”

  She held his gaze. “Right. So?”

  “Are you serious? You want me to call all of them again asking about Angie Carter?”

  “You might not have a choice.”

  “I might not have a choice,” he mumbled. “And what are you going to do?”

  “While you’re working on that, Cynthia will be calling the manufacturer—”

  Cynthia looked from Madison to Terry and back to Madison. “How did I get involved with this? Besides, I can’t do that right now.” She gestured back toward the table and the waiting evidence.

  “You’re kidding, right?” Madison asked. “That’s not even evidence from our case, Cyn.”

  “There are other cases out there besides yours. You do know that.”

  “Fine. I’ll do your job again.” It was one of those moments where, in her mind, Madison slapped a hand over her own mouth.

  “Excuse me?” Cynthia snapped and put both hands on her hips.

  Terry slinked toward the door and made a quiet exit.

  Madison hadn’t meant for those words to come out and especially not in the harsh tone in which they had. But now that they were out there, she realized the fact that a cleaning crew had found evidence that Cynthia’s team had missed still bothered her. “Your team let us down, Cynthia. The evidence Terry and I had to go back—”

  “Stop there. I can’t believe you’re bringing that up again. We’ve been over this. The person who missed it has been spoken to—”

  “But you’re the one in charge out there. You should have double-checked to make sure your team did their jobs.”

>   “So you’d prefer that I go around behind my employees scrutinizing everything they do in minute detail? That’s not even logical. And I don’t work that way.”

  “You don’t work that way?” Madison’s voice raised a few octaves. “Someone could get off with murder because—”

  “The evidence that will put the killer away is in your hands, Knight, not mine. You have the murder weapon, you have the blood, you have the DNA, and you have the suspects. I doubt a single pair of underwear and a palm print will prove who put the knife to her throat—”

  “I know that a Bowie knife was used, but I don’t have the murder weapon. What if it was missed? What if it is still in the house somewhere? You released the scene. Even if it is found in Claire’s house now, it will be inadmissible.” Once Madison got started, she found it hard to stop. She’d always had such faith in Cynthia’s abilities and her attention to detail and thoroughness.

  Cynthia’s face was red and her teeth clenched. She walked back to the table and to the evidence she’d been working on when they came in. Madison followed her.

  “Just disappointed, that’s all.”

  Her friend looked up at her. “Maybe you should get used to it, Knight.”

  My last name? She’s never called me by that before.

  Cynthia added, “People are prone to disappoint you at some point.”

  Sadly, that was one lesson Madison was learning all too much lately.

  HOURS LATER, MADISON WAS STILL agitated by her confrontation with Cynthia. How could Cynthia even begin to defend herself and her team when they had been so incompetent? And Cynthia’s last words—“People are prone to disappoint you at some point”—seemed to imply that she’d also disappointed Cynthia somehow.

  She was at her desk and Terry was at his. He looked over at her.

  “I’ve called all the main banks in the city. No Angie Carter.” Terry seemed to be studying her. “What’s up with you?”

  She hated that she was never any good at concealing her moods. “Did you try the smaller ones, the independent banks?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “What about you? Have you gotten ahold of the key manufacturer?” Terry asked her.