Byron couldn’t help but notice how quickly LeRoyer shifted his use of pronoun from we to you at the thought of a fucked-up arrest. “Yeah,” Byron said. “Think I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
Byron waited as LeRoyer paced the room, furiously combing his fingers back through his hair. He’d seen the lieutenant react like this to bad news too many times to count.
“We’ve gotta let someone know,” LeRoyer said. “We gotta let Branch out of jail. Drop the charges.”
“I’ve already talked to AAG Ferguson,” Byron said. “Branch is staying put for the time being. We’re not just gonna go off half-cocked. We still have PC for the arrest.”
“Yeah, but the video, John. Jesus.”
“Circumstantial. All we’ve got is Brennan taking a late-night cab ride.”
“From the crime scene.”
“From a variety store close to where we recovered Ramsey’s SUV,” Byron countered. “We can’t even put the gun in her hand.”
“Goddammit, John,” LeRoyer said, continuing to pace and glaring at Byron. “Why can’t it ever be simple with you? I wonder if my uniform still fits. ’Cause I’ll be wearing it when they bust me back to Patrol.”
“Think it through, Marty,” Byron said. “Davies would have access to her husband’s car, so she could have planted the gun later on. And if Davies had access then so would Brennan. Davies could have used her to plant the evidence.”
Gradually, LeRoyer began to calm down and think rationally. He closed the door to his office, returned to his desk, and sat down across from Byron. “I know you must have a plan or you wouldn’t be sitting here telling me this. Right?”
Byron nodded.
“Am I gonna like it?”
Byron shrugged his shoulders. “Not after your approval.”
LeRoyer shook his head. “God, you’re a dick sometimes, John. Okay, go on, then. Tell me.”
Byron filled him in on everything he and Diane had discovered. Including the revelation by the night security guard working in Davies’s building.
LeRoyer sat back in his chair, rubbing his palm over the side of his face. Byron wondered if this was the start of a new tic. “So, you think Davies was sleeping with Brennan and Ramsey?”
“Not at the same time, but yeah.”
“How does that lead to a conspiracy?” LeRoyer asked.
“I think Davies may have put Brennan up to it. Davies sees how smitten the younger woman is with her and uses that adoration to manipulate her into removing the two biggest impediments in her professional life—Ramsey and her husband, Branch. Brennan kills Ramsey, then frames Branch.”
“Jesus. How the hell are we ever gonna prove any of this?”
“We need a confession,” Byron said. “There are only two possibilities—if Brennan is the killer, either she did it on her own or at the behest of Davies.”
“Why would she murder Ramsey and set up Branch if she was acting on her own?” LeRoyer asked.
“Could be some kind of a fatal attraction thing.”
“So, how do we go about getting either of them to confess?” LeRoyer asked.
“Oldest trick in the book,” Byron said.
“I must not have that book,” LeRoyer said. “What are you saying?”
“Turn them against each other.”
Someone knocked on the door to LeRoyer’s office. Both men turned to look.
“Got it,” Diane said, waving a stack of papers at them. “Oh, and Nugent found something rather interesting in Davies’s past.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Wednesday, 6:00 p.m., May 4, 2016
Diane, Pelligrosso, and Nugent were parked in an unmarked just down the street from Brennan’s Morse Street apartment, waiting for her to depart. Parked directly across from them in a second unmarked was Tran. Inside Diane’s jacket pocket was the affidavit and a signed warrant to search. In her left hand she toyed with the key that Brennan’s landlord had provided to them. They watched as Brennan, alone, exited her building and entered her car.
Diane picked up her portable radio. “You got her?” she asked.
“Got her,” Tran said.
Brennan drove down the street, past them, toward Washington Avenue. Tran followed. The three detectives moved quickly, jumping out of the car as soon as Brennan turned the corner.
As they approached the apartment on foot, Diane picked up the radio again. “Seven twenty-one to 720.”
The static crackled loudly from the radio. “Seven twenty, go,” Byron’s voice said.
“Target has departed our location,” she said. “Dustin has eyes on.”
“Ten-four. Seven twenty copies.”
They hurried up the steps to Brennan’s empty apartment. For their plan to work, timing was everything. Timing and finding that TracFone. They only hoped she still had it.
Amy Brennan had taken her time dressing for her rendezvous. She’d purchased new black shoes and a skirt. Completing the outfit was a tight-fitting white blouse that enhanced her best attributes. It never failed to get a response from some of the male employees at the firm. But tonight she was only interested in Lorraine’s reaction.
Anxiously, she made the short drive across town, the anticipation nearly killing her. She wasn’t expected for another hour but she couldn’t wait. She and Lorraine had accomplished so much and soon it would be over. Soon nobody would ever come between them again. It was time to celebrate. Time for them to be together. Forever.
She turned into the driveway of the Eastern Promenade high-rise, drove past the entryway and into the rear lot. Soon she’d be able to give up her apartment permanently. Likewise she’d no longer have to park in this visitor’s lot. She and Lorraine would share a space. They’d finally be able to share everything. The thought made her happy.
Brennan parked then paused to check her makeup in the mirror one last time. She smiled, secretly hoping that the young security guard, Max, was on duty. Max was never quite able to hide his lust for her. It made her feel sexy, even if men weren’t her thing. But Max wasn’t seated in the lobby as she strode along the entry hall toward the front desk. It was the day supervisor, Miller, and someone was standing beside him. Someone she recognized. It was that detective, Byron.
“Excuse me, Ms. Brennan,” a female voice said, startling her from behind. “You need to come with us.”
They’d been inside Brennan’s apartment less than five minutes when Diane found a TracFone. It was plugged in, unlocked, and fully charged, half-hidden behind a Longaberger basket on the kitchen counter. Diane quickly checked the history log. It was the phone they were after.
“Got it,” Diane called to the others. “Come on, Nuge. We gotta go.”
Pelligrosso turned the corner from the adjoining room, almost colliding with her. “Look what I found.” He was grinning as he held up a blond wig.
Byron knocked again on the door to Davies’s apartment.
She opened the door dressed as if she was expecting a visit from one of her lovers and not a police detective. The surprise that registered on her face disappeared as quickly as it came. Chameleonlike, her features shifted to warm and inviting. “Good evening, Sergeant,” she said in an overtly sultry tone. “Won’t you come in.”
He wondered how many things Davies had obtained in her life simply by using her sexual charms.
“Can I interest you in something to drink?” she asked, once again leading him into the living room.
“No, thank you.”
“Oh, that’s right, I forgot. You’re on the wagon. Perhaps a soda, then?”
“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“It’s no trouble.” He watched her stroll over to the bar and begin fixing his drink. “Diet Pepsi with lime okay?”
“Fine,” he said.
He heard the muted chime of a cellphone text message, then watched as she picked it up from the bar and responded.
“Am I interrupting anything?” he asked.
“Not at all. Just wor
k stuff. It’ll keep.”
A cool breeze tinged with the brine of seawater blew in through the open slider door, causing the sheer curtains on either side to dance.
“What about you, Sergeant Byron? Working, are we, or is this a social call?”
“Working, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t you ever let your hair down?” she asked as she picked up their drinks and walked over to him.
“After the job is done.”
“Oh? I thought you’d already charged Devon with Paul Ramsey’s murder?”
“We have. I’m just tying up some loose ends.”
“I’m intrigued,” she said, handing him his glass. “What else is there?”
“Well, I’m still not clear on Devon’s motive.”
Davies walked away and took a seat in the center of the sofa. “I’m not a detective, but it would seem that jealousy would be the most likely.”
“Jealous about your affair with Paul Ramsey?”
“Of course. You saw what he did to me,” she said touching her eye gingerly.
Byron sat across from her on the love seat.
“That’s the thing I’m having trouble with. Why would he go off on you for sleeping with Ramsey? It’s not like he was your only conquest.”
“Sounds like someone’s been spreading rumors about me.”
“Oh, I’d say more than rumors.”
“Who have you been talking to?”
“Why didn’t you tell the officer that you called Devon the night he assaulted you?”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“You said he just showed up in a rage and assaulted you. What did you call him about beforehand?”
“I can’t remember.”
“You don’t seem too broken up by any of this,” Byron said.
“Should I be?”
“Your lover is killed, then your husband is charged with his murder. I would think that might be upsetting.”
“It’s a tough world—I do what I have to to survive. You know, you don’t have to sit way over there.” She gave him a coquettish grin, and patted the cushion next to her. “I won’t bite, Sergeant.”
“I think it’d be better if we kept our relationship professional.”
Davies stuck her bottom lip out in a mock pout. “You won’t sit with me, you won’t drink with me. Don’t you find me attractive?”
“On the contrary, I find you very attractive. That’s just the problem.”
“And why is that a problem?”
“It isn’t. At least, not until you use those charms to manipulate others into doing your bidding.”
Davies frowned. “Not sure I understand the implication, Sergeant Byron.”
“Actually, I’m not implying anything. I’m telling you, I know what you did.”
Davies took another sip from her glass. Her eyes appraised Byron above the rim. “And what is it you think you know? Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“Lorraine Davies, thirty-six years old, attractive, intelligent, top of her class in law school. Takes a position with Newman, Branch & DeWitt and marries one of the firm’s senior partners. She continues to climb the corporate ladder until, in the short span of five years, she’s suddenly in position to become the youngest full partner in the history of the firm. Only two things stand in the way of that goal: a husband who thinks she’s too impetuous and immature and a boyfriend who believes that it should be his name added to the sign.”
“Not a very flattering picture you’re painting, but so far it’s not an altogether inaccurate description. I assume there’s more?”
“There is. Davies, being a bit of a manipulator, uses her ravenous sexual appetite to get whatever she wants. Blackmailing the other two married senior partners by sleeping with them. Intentionally bedding Ramsey, her only real competition for the partnership, coincidentally her husband’s choice.”
“I’m not sure what my sex life has to do with anything? Especially since you seem so determined not to be a part of it.”
“Doesn’t it? Sleeping with Ramsey, then creating the impression that your husband would be jealous about the relationship. Jealous enough to kill.”
“I never implied any such thing.”
“No, you didn’t. You had your other lover take care of that.”
“My other lover?”
“Amy Brennan, your personal assistant. You had her approach a newspaper reporter and pretend to have inside information about a love triangle gone wrong. You knew that the paper would never print anything like that for fear of being slapped with a multimillion-dollar slander suit. But you also knew that Billingslea wouldn’t let it go. You knew Brennan could convince him to feed that story to the detectives investigating Ramsey’s murder.”
Davies laughed. “You have a very vivid imagination, Sergeant Byron. If I wanted Ramsey dead, why wouldn’t I just have done it myself?”
“You didn’t want to get your hands dirty. Better to coerce someone else to help you with your plan to frame Devon for the murder of Paul Ramsey. Someone who looked up to you. Someone who would do anything you asked because she believed that you really loved her.”
“Amy?” Davies laughed again. “Is that what she told you? She means nothing to me. She’s nothing more than a sexy toy to me. Something fun to pass the time. If she has done anything like you’re suggesting, it was because she was upset when I broke it off.”
“You broke it off with her?”
“Of course. You don’t think for a second that I really care for that little tramp, do you?”
“She told me that the two of you were in love.”
“In love,” she scoffed. “It should be obvious that I am way out of her league. If you’re trying to tell me little Miss Fatal Attraction has accused me of something, I will fire her first thing in the morning. I have an alibi for the night Ramsey was killed. Where was Amy? If she did something to Paul, she did it all on her own.”
Davies looked up to the sound of the apartment door opening. “Excuse me. You can’t just waltz in here!”
Byron didn’t bother turning around. He knew that Diane and Nugent were escorting Amy Brennan into the apartment.
“How dare you break into my apartment?” Davies shouted. “I’ll have your badges.”
“It’s not a break-in, Lorraine,” Diane said. “Amy gave us permission. We used her key.”
Davies looked at Byron. Her rage was obvious. “Now what, you’re going to try and turn us against each other with lies?”
“I thought the two of you were quits?” Byron said, pulling out a digital transmitter from the breast pocket of his suit coat. “Ms. Brennan has been listening to everything we’ve said.”
Davies’s eyes widened. She turned and faced Brennan.
Tears streamed down the young woman’s face, leaving a trail of mascara behind.
“We told her that you’d probably make sure that she never talked about this to anyone,” Byron said. “Sooner or later she’d have to have an accident. Maybe an overdose, like your roommate in college. The student who was actually tops in the class until her best friend found her dead from too many Xanax.”
Davies followed Byron’s gaze toward the other bottle of wine on the table.
“I noticed you’re drinking cabernet,” Byron said. “Guessing the merlot is Amy’s brand. I wonder, would you have added a little something to it? Something along the lines of what you had the stripper give to Ramsey. Something that might make it look like Amy died of an accidental overdose, effectively putting an end to your accomplice.”
“Aim, please, don’t listen to any of this,” Davies said. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“It was all her idea,” Brennan said in a barely audible voice.
“Shut up, Aim,” Davies warned.
“No! I won’t! You told me you loved me. You said we could be together if I helped you get Paul and Devon out of the way.”
“This girl is delusional. Look at her. You can’t honestly believe t
his story.”
“Actually, I do,” Byron said. “That text message you just responded to, thinking it was Amy, was actually Detective Joyner.”
Diane held up Brennan’s TracFone for Davies to see.
“Interesting how those phones were used leading up to Ramsey’s murder,” Byron continued. “Even now. Interesting, too, that yours was in direct contact with Darius Tomlinson the night he was killed.”
“I was right here when you said that murder happened.”
“Your car was here, but you weren’t,” Diane said. “It took us a while to figure out how you could be here and at the murder scenes simultaneously.”
“Until we found out that your elderly neighbor from down the hall lives in Florida,” Byron said. “You’ve been using her door opener and vehicle for the kills.”
“This is crazy,” Davies said. “You can’t prove a thing you’re saying.”
Brennan spoke up again. “Lorraine told me that both men were abusive to her and controlling. She said Devon wouldn’t give her a divorce. She told me that he threatened to fire her if she filed.”
“What about Ramsey?” Byron asked.
Brennan looked back at Davies. “She said if she slept with him we could convince everyone that Devon was jealous and that he killed Ramsey.”
Byron watched as Davies’s expression changed from controlled and calculating to one of pure rage. He’d been hoping for a reaction, that Davies might let her guard down when she realized her plan was exposed. And now it was happening.
Davies hurled her glass at Brennan but missed. The glass shattered against the wall, staining it crimson and sending shards in all directions. “Shut the fuck up, you bitch,” she hissed.
“How did the gun get into Branch’s car?” Diane asked.
“I put it there,” Brennan said. “Lorraine gave me the key and I stuck it under the seat. She told me say that I witnessed Devon attack her.”
“How did she get the black eye?” Byron asked.
“She did it to herself,” Brennan said.
“I will kill you for this!” Davies yelled as she glared at Brennan.
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