Sydney Valentine Mystery Series: Books 1-3 (Boxed Set) (A Sydney Valentine Mystery)

by Danielle Lenee Davis

  He shook his head. “No, not at all.”

  Theresa cleared her throat as she flipped through pages in her notebook.

  He jerked a look over his shoulder at her then turned his attention back to me. “Questions about what?” His leg bounced under the table.

  I slid from my perch atop the table and began pacing, eyeing him. “Where do you work?”

  “Work?” His brow furrowed. “I’m unemployed at the moment.”

  Theresa, still standing behind him, raised her brows.

  “What did you do prior to becoming unemployed?”

  “I was a paralegal.” He swallowed.

  “Where?”

  “Here in town.” His gaze bounced around the room.

  “What was the name of the place where you worked?”

  “The Law Offices of Joan Moore.”

  “Why aren’t you working there anymore? Did you quit?”

  “No, I was laid off.” The leg bouncing ramped up.

  “She fired you?”

  His head shot up, and he scowled. “No. She laid me off.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” He looked away.

  “Do you know Monica Stewart?”

  “No, not personally.”

  “What do you know about her?”

  “She inherited something in her father’s will, which Joan prepared.”

  “Okay. What else?”

  He gazed at me and shrugged. “Nothing else.”

  “How long did you work for Joan Moore?”

  “Almost six years.”

  “That’s a long time. And she just fired you, for no reason?”

  “I wasn’t fired, but I suppose she had her reasons for laying me off.”

  “I suppose she did. Are you an attorney, Mr. Lancaster?”

  He narrowed his eyes and looked away. “I passed the bar exam,” he mumbled.

  “Recently? Did you pass the bar exam recently?” I paced and his gaze followed me.

  “It’s been a while.”

  “When, Mr. Lancaster? When did you pass it?”

  “Four years ago.” He’d begun taking deep breaths. His ears had turned a bright crimson.

  I’d hit a hot button. Time to push it. “And why are you working as a paralegal, instead of an attorney?”

  “I like what I do. I mean, I did.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Right, did. Why spend all of that effort in law school and not practice?” I stopped pacing, hands behind my back. I looked at Theresa. “Detective Sinclair, does that make sense to you?”

  Lancaster turned in his chair to peer at Theresa.

  “It makes no sense to me why someone would spend hour upon grueling hour in law school then take and pass the bar exam without pursuing a career as an attorney.” She shrugged. “I don’t get it, either.”

  “I am pursuing it! At least I thought I was!” Lancaster shouted. “Joan promised me! She told me I’d be a partner in her firm someday. I worked hard for that lady!” He pounded the table. “I took so much crap from her.” He shook his head and ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up in spots.

  “And then she fired you.”

  “Now, I’ve got nothing. It’s all her fault.”

  I sat on the table and gazed at him. “That’s not true,” I whispered. “You’ve got the truth. What’s the truth? Why did she fire you?”

  He looked up. “I already told you. I don’t know.”

  “Was it because you delivered Vincent Frakes’s will to Monica Stewart?”

  “No.” He turned to look at Theresa then me. “I’m done talking to you.” He sat back, folding his arms. “I want a deal before I say anything else. And I want a lawyer.” He looked down at the table.

  Theresa pushed herself off the wall and headed for the door. I followed her into the hall.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Theresa said.

  “I agree. We’ll nail it down. The only reason someone would request a deal is if they’ve done something incriminating.” As we walked back to my desk I was notified that Joan had arrived and was waiting in another interrogation room. “I want you to call or come and get me if anything happens that I should know about.”

  “Sure thing. Good luck in there.”

  Chapter Thirty

  I entered the interrogation room and found Joan seated and on her phone texting. “Hello, Joan. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. I’m hoping we can get everything settled today. I just texted my husband with the news that we might get the house back today.”

  “I have a few questions about your family. How did your father feel about Sylvia’s husband?”

  “He loved Vincent. He was the son he never had.”

  I’d thought as much. I pulled out the sheet with Sharon Carter’s driver’s license photo and handed it to her. “Do you know her?”

  She glanced at it and set it on the table. “I don’t think so.”

  “Look at it again.” I pushed it toward her. “Take your time.”

  She picked the paper up by the edge, as though it might singe her fingers. She pursed her lips, shaking her head. “No, I still don’t know who she is.” She tossed it on the table.

  “How about the name Sharon Carter? Do you recognize it?”

  “It’s not familiar.” She stared at me then averted her gaze.

  “I’m curious. How well did you know Vincent?”

  “As well as I know my other brother-in-law.” She lifted a shoulder. “We weren’t close.”

  “Did you ever have any business dealings with him?”

  She gazed at me for several moments. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Besides trying to sell our house, I’m not involved in real estate. That’s all Vincent talked about.” She rolled her eyes. “I found him excruciatingly boring.”

  “What about business dealings not related to real estate?”

  She licked her lips and swallowed. “I haven’t worked on anything with Vincent.”

  “That’s odd because you prepared his will.”

  “Oh, that.” A flush crept up her neck. “Wills are personal.”

  “Maybe, but they’re also public records. So, no need to be private about it. Besides, he’s dead, and someone killed him.”

  “And you think it was me? That’s absolutely ridiculous.” She chuckled softly. “Even if I had, you have no proof. Otherwise, you’d have arrested me.”

  “Did you know, prior to Vincent coming to you about his will, that he planned to leave a portion of Portrero Meyer Homes to two women who weren’t your family?”

  Joan paled.

  Someone knocked on the door. “Excuse me.” I stepped into the hall and shut the door.

  Theresa was leaning against the hall. “They found Sharon Carter’s car. The key was in the ignition. Can you believe that? It’s been searched. There were credit cards in the glove compartment.”

  “Did they find any identity theft equipment?”

  She nodded and looked at her notes. “A power cord that plugs into a cigarette lighter and a laminating machine were on the floor in the back. An inkjet printer and laptop were in the trunk. There were several checks that still had the original account holders’ names on them and other checks that had been washed. An iPhone was under the front seat. Shelly had called Sharon several times after the body was discovered.”

  “She probably wanted her money back. This is good. Anything else?”

  “The name Abby Lincoln was on a driver’s license and that had Sharon’s photo. Remember Shelly said the guy she rented the house from looked like Abe Lincoln?” she said.

  “I do. It looks like Sharon was stealing checks and making fake IDs in her car.”

  “I think you’re right. There were several money orders totaling twenty-eight hundred dollars. The payee was Abby Lincoln. I guess Sharon died before she could cash them.”

  “That was the same amount Shelly allegedly paid to the con man,�
�� I said.

  “Oh, one more thing. I found out that the Moores’ house was about to be foreclosed. Maybe that’s how Sharon found it. She might’ve thought it was abandoned and figured she and Shelly would take advantage of it.” Theresa turned a page in her notebook.

  “That’s a possibility, but I wonder why she was at the house when she’d already rented it to Shelly?”

  She frowned. “Good point.”

  “Anything else?”

  “No, that’s it.”

  “All right. I’m going back in. I stepped into the room. Joan was texting again. She stopped when she saw me. My phone rang. “Valentine.”

  “They just told me Bernie had a son!” Theresa shouted.

  “Great! How are Khrystal and the baby?”

  “They said she wasn’t due for a little while longer, but they’re both fine.”

  “That’s really good news,” I said.

  Someone spoke in the background and papers rustled. “Rudy just gave me a fingerprint report. He’d dropped it in your inbox on your desk earlier.”

  “What does the report say?”

  “The prints from the digital camera Forensics had found in the Moores’ hot tub matched Sharon Carter and another person named Johanna Cooper.”

  “Cooper?”

  “Right.”

  The name seemed familiar. “You got anything else?”

  “Nope. That’s it.”

  “All right. Later.”

  Joan was watching me. “Did somebody have a baby?”

  “Yes, they did.”

  “Somebody named Cooper?” Her face blanched.

  “No. Someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “Your father’s name was Gerald Cooper.” I smiled. “You’re Johanna Cooper.”

  “So?”

  “Why did you kill Sharon Carter?”

  “I didn’t kill anyone. That’s slander if you say I did. I’ll sue you, the police department, and the city.”

  “Right.” I grinned. “The court will decide your fate.”

  “I said I didn’t kill that girl.”

  “We know the type of things she was involved in. Was she trying to take your house? Is that why you killed her?”

  “I told you! I didn’t kill her!”

  “Let’s say that’s true. What exactly did you do?”

  “It was self-defense. I just pushed her. She fell and hit her head on the hot tub.”

  “And you didn’t help her?”

  “I’m not a doctor.” She looked away. “I pushed her, and she fell. It was an accident.”

  “Well, your push caused her to hit her head and you didn’t lift a finger to help. That injury killed her.”

  “No, she was fine when I left. She was unconscious for a few minutes, but that’s all.”

  “How did she seem after she regained consciousness?”

  “Confused. She said her head hurt. She kind of stumbled a bit, but she was talking.”

  “Was she bleeding?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Did you care? At all?”

  She stared.

  “Why did you leave her on your property?”

  “I didn’t! I demanded that she leave, and she did. She was sitting on the curb in front of my house when I left.”

  “What was she doing in your backyard?”

  “She told me she was a real estate agent with Frakes Realty. She was taking pictures!”

  “Why didn’t you believe she was with Frakes Realty?”

  “Because I called Sylvia. She came over right away. Sylvia told me she didn’t know her.”

  “Did the young woman know who you were?”

  “No. She thought I was there to look at the house as a buyer. I couldn’t believe it. The little twit was trying to steal my house out from under me!”

  “Is that why you killed her?”

  “I didn’t kill her! It was self-defense! I’m allowed to defend myself, and she wasn’t dead when I last saw her.”

  “Defend yourself from what? Did she try to harm you?”

  “I was defending my property! She was trying to steal it. Homeowners can defend their property.”

  “Why did you kill Vincent Frakes?”

  She looked away. “I didn’t.”

  “Who did you hire to kill him?”

  She smirked.

  “You had him killed because he’d planned to leave portions of his company to Monica Stewart and Sharon Carter, people outside your family.” I leaned forward. “I don’t understand why you’d kill him and guarantee that the will went into effect.”

  “My paralegal wasn’t supposed to do anything with the will! Todd was too damn efficient for his own good. Usually.”

  “Usually? Did you hire him to set fire to the apartment next to mine? Trying to kill me, and everyone else, with toxic fumes? Did he also set fire to the Portrero Meyer Homes building, too? Why?”

  She glared at me. “I want a lawyer.”

  Too late for that. I couldn’t believe she’d told me as much as she did. I guess she didn’t pay attention in her criminal law classes. Even Lancaster stopped talking before he incriminated himself. I left the room and gave instructions to arrest her.

  I found Theresa and she told me the search warrant served for Shelly’s car resulted in a boatload of evidence. Fake driver’s licenses were found in her glove compartment. From Shelly’s house, uniformed officers had removed supplies similar to what we found in Sharon’s closet.

  I called it a day and headed out, ready to get back to my life outside of homicide, fraud, and other illegal acts people did to each other.

  I had a newborn baby to get to know.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  A little while later, I was riding the elevator at San Sansolita Memorial Hospital. I’d called Bernie to update him on the case and ask for Khrystal’s room number. He was at home, gathering items to bring to the hospital for Khrystal and the yet-to-be-named baby. The elevator dinged, and the door opened. I stepped off the elevator and made a right, following the colored stripes as if they were the yellow brick road to Oz. I sauntered past food carts and nurses in colorful uniforms. I didn’t like the smell of hospitals, but I sucked it up and kept walking.

  I strolled down the hall until I found Khrystal’s room. I stood at the door and watched her holding her son. She was sitting near a window in a white plastic chair next to the bed, a thin white hospital blanket on her lap. I grinned and stepped inside the dim room. “Hey.” I whispered, because that seemed like the thing to do.

  Khrystal looked up, smiling radiantly. “I just fed him, and he fell asleep. Do you want to hold him?” She’d whispered, too.

  She was handing him to me before I even nodded. I bent down and held out my arms, ready to hold up his head. She laid him in my cradling arms. I looked down at the little guy and gasped. An unexpected feeling of warmth washed over me. I couldn’t help myself—I was grinning like a loon, I was sure. “Khrystal, he’s beautiful. Look at all of that hair.” He had a blotchy pink face, and black curly hair peeked out from his blue cap. I sat on the end of her bed, looking at her. Bare-faced, with her hair in a loose ponytail draped over her shoulder, she glowed. She appeared cozy in plaid pajamas and fuzzy socks. All of a sudden, my body felt like lead, and I yawned. Then she yawned. We laughed.

  “It’s been a tough day.” I yawned again. “We closed a case.”

  “That’s great. Does Bernie know?”

  “I called him before I came here. When do you two get to go home?” The baby started to flail in a jerky manner in his sleep. I got up and gave him back to his mom. “I have to get going. I’m exhausted.”

  “You look it. Get some rest. We go home tomorrow. Stop by and see us soon.”

  I caressed the baby’s soft cheek. “I will. Take care, Khrystal.” I gave her a hug.

  “You take care, too, Syd. I mean it. Get some sleep.”

  “I plan to.” As I left the room, my phone buzzed, and the display indic
ated it was Brad. I needed to call him. Tomorrow. I hurried to my car, hopped in, and went home to my apartment.

  I was up early the next morning. After wolfing down my breakfast of oatmeal, I went to the station and worked on reports for several hours. I’d decided to take the rest of the day off. I called Bernie, and he told me Khrystal and the baby had returned home earlier.

  I called Brad. “Hey, stranger.”

  “Hey, yourself. What are you doing?” He sounded relaxed and happy.

  “I’m about to go to Bernie and Khrystal’s. She had the baby, and they just came home today.”

  “Cool. When do I get to see you?”

  “When do you want to see me?” I headed to my car and slid behind the wheel.

  He laughed. “Now.”

  “What’s your second choice?”

  “After you see Bernie’s baby. I can meet you at your place, or you can come here. Don’t you owe me a meal?”

  “Do I? We were supposed to have dinner the other day, but I got busy with the case.” I gasped. “I was supposed to call you, wasn’t I?”

  “I can’t keep track. You can make it up to me.”

  “I took the rest of the day off. Come by my place at four.”

  “I’ll see you soon, Sydney.”

  We ended our call, and I headed to Bernie’s.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I sat on the sectional, visiting with Bernie while Khrystal tended to the baby in the other room. He drank a Corona and had dark crescents under his eyes, and beard stubble speckled his face.

  “How are you doing, Bernie?” I watched him drink.

  “I’m doing great. I can’t believe I’m a dad.” He shook his head then took another gulp. “My parents are coming over tonight. They’re grandparents again.”

  “Do you have a name picked out for him yet?” The baby started to fuss and that quickly became a wail. I turned toward the sound.

  Bernie laughed. “He’s loud.” He set the bottle on the table, next to two others. “We have a name.”

  “And it is… what?” I leaned in, elbows on my thighs.

  “I’m thinking about Joseph.” He looked away.

  I nodded. “All right.”

  “You know why?”