by Merit Clark
Monique’s murder was brutal and heartbreaking. Mike pulled up crime scene photos on his laptop. “Lassiter said it made him think of an abattoir. I see why.”
“What’s that?” Serena asked.
“A slaughterhouse.” Jack stared at the pictures.
“It was Lassiter’s first case as a detective,” Mike said. “Told me it always bugged him that they never closed it.”
Monique was raped and sexually mutilated; there were deep, gaping incisions to her chest, abdomen, and genitalia. Twenty-four stab wounds in all. The perpetrator used a knife with a serrated blade, possibly a kitchen carving knife—they’d found a wooden block of knives next to the stove with one slot empty—although they never found the murder weapon. There was blood everywhere, starting in the upstairs bedroom where the attack occurred, smeared down the hallway, on the staircase, across the dining room floor, and finally in the kitchen where she was found.
“Personal,” Mike said.
“A lot of rage,” Jack said.
“Did we find anything of Brice’s that connects him to this?” Mike asked.
“Nothing.” Serena shook her head. “But his computer’s still missing.”
“Your killer was looking for any evidence Brice had in his possession,” Mike said.
“Everyone’s convinced my killer is Vangie,” Jack said. “Who else knew about Brice’s past and about Monique’s murder?”
Jack got up and wrote “Vangie” on the whiteboard, with an arrow pointing to the name “Monique.” Under that he wrote “Evan,” with a similar arrow.
“There’s no mention of Evan Markham in the case materials from Charlotte.” Serena frowned.
“Doesn’t mean there isn’t a connection,” Jack said. “Someone figured out who Brice was, found out he was getting too close to solving his sister’s murder, and killed him.”
“We don’t know that for sure yet, Jack.” Serena spoke carefully.
Jack shrugged and went back to reading. After a few minutes he said, “Holy shit,” and felt himself grinning.
Mike looked up. “Something good?”
They watched as Jack stood and wrote “Len Funderburk” on the whiteboard, with a big red arrow pointing to Monique. Jack tapped on the board with the marker. “Lennon Funderburk? Jessie’s friend? There was a Leonard Funderburk who worked for Monique’s grandfather. What are the odds?”
At the time, Len’s alibi had checked out: he’d been drinking in a bar at the time of Monique’s murder. The police had talked to several people in the bar who all said they saw Len. As a result, they eliminated him as a suspect and never compared Len’s DNA to the sample taken from the scene.
“That would mean Len followed Brice to Colorado.” Serena’s frown deepened. “And it’s a coincidence he’s friends with Jessie? What’s going on?”
“What could Brice have found out after fifteen years?” Mike asked. “How the hell does all of this tie together?”
“Let’s find out.” Jack directed Mike to keep going through the case files and follow up with Detective Lassiter. He told Serena to work on a more thorough background check on Len Funderburk. Jack called Len himself and arranged an interview for the next morning.
After that, Jack only stopped working to refill his coffee. Five o’clock came and went. No radiation today. Which was okay, because he could do with a night off from nausea. He felt relief and then a twinge of doubt, which he ignored.
Back at his desk, Jack thumbed through the notes Aranda had compiled. He couldn’t explain it. A hunch maybe, or something more, but he needed to get a picture of Evan Markham’s world. It didn’t feel like a waste of time; patterns emerged from the darnedest places if you were thorough, and Jack was all about patterns. An early professor of his in college had coined the expression “organize, don’t agonize,” and it had saved Jack’s mental health numerous times when he felt buried by information overload on a case.
On his computer Jack organized a spreadsheet:
Plaintiff(s)
Type of Injury
Defendant
Type of Entity (Corporation, LLC, Individual)
Date Filed
Jurisdiction
Court Date (if any)
Judge’s Name
Outcome
Award (if any)
Settlement (if any)
Settlement Date
He added a column for Evan’s fee, calculating ten percent of the settlement amount as an estimate.
Many of the cases didn’t wind up going to trial. Jack wondered if Evan was still paid in those situations. He made a note on the second tab of the worksheet where he kept track of his list of questions. Maybe Corie could answer them. If she ever spoke to him again.
He made quick work of the files once he had a system in place, and by the time he was finished, Jack had a pretty good picture of Evan Markham’s work life for the last ten years, not to mention his cash flow. Many, many times higher than a homicide detective’s salary. Even with overtime.
How important was the money to Corie? Jack sipped coffee and stared at the subtotals at the bottom of the columns for Award and Settlement. They were already in the tens of millions. Aranda said Evan also did consulting performing risk analysis. How much did he get paid for that? Jack jotted another question on the second tab.
What he didn’t have was a connection between any of these consulting jobs and Brice Shaughnessy. Which made Len look even better. So why the feeling of disappointment? He was on the verge of closing not only his own case, but an unsolved, fifteen-year-old cold case. That should feel really good.
Jack was so absorbed that his cell phone startled him when it rang around six thirty. Afraid it would be Dani, he was relieved for a moment when he heard the patrol officer’s voice. Until the man said, “Corie Markham. Hospital. Assault.”
“Say again? Which hospital?”
“The husband got away,” the officer continued. “We’re looking for him.”
“Got away? How?” Jack shrugged into his jacket and headed for the door. They were supposed to be watching Markham. Couldn’t they even do that right?
“He took off in his car while the reporting party was waiting for the responders to the 911 call.”
“Son of bitch.”
“We’ve put it out,” the officer said.
“Consider him armed and dangerous.” Jack thought of Serena as he drove through the Denver streets, lights flashing, breaking every speed limit known to mankind. At least this was a real emergency. Had Corie confronted Evan? Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have told her about Vangie after all.
He braced himself for what he was going to find but Corie was awake. She looked up when he walked into the examination room and she seemed glad to see him.
The detective tried to smile. “You look like you’re in one piece.”
“Yeah.” A tremor in her voice.
“What happened?” Jack bit back his own sense of urgency. “I talked to the officers who responded, but I’d like to hear it from you, if you’re up for it.”
Sitting on the examination table with her legs swinging over the edge, Corie nodded. But when she tried to speak, all that came out was a choking sob.
“Corie.” He took a step toward her and then stopped, uncertain.
“Jack—I–I’m sorry.” She grabbed for his arm and the tears started in earnest.
What the hell was she sorry about? Tentatively, he sat on the edge of the table next to her. He looked at her hands still holding onto his arm, and the next thing he knew she was leaning into him, really crying. He watched her shoulders heave for a few seconds and then his arms found their way around her, as if it was the most natural thing to do. She was thin and warm and wretched. She pressed her face against his chest and sobbed uncontrollably, and he let her. He tightened his grip and really held her, not some bullshit pat on the arm.
“Corie, shh. You’re safe now.”
Jack’s experience with cancer had made him feel very human. He’d re
jected the knowledge. Being human meant you were weak, you made mistakes, you fell in love. His entire life, the most important thing—the only thing that ever brought any relief—was finding out the truth. It wasn’t that Jack refused to take the easy way out on principle. If the truth happened to come easy, great. Except it never did. And that was okay with him.
As he held Corie, it was as if he could feel her despair leach into him through his pores.
“It’s all so awful.” Her voice came in choking fragments, muffled against his chest. “He forced me . . . can’t believe I let him . . . awful things . . . needles . . . I can’t . . . in the water . . . his face . . . he made me . . . wasn’t proud . . . not proud . . .”
“It’ll be okay. You have to believe me.” Her hair felt silky under his hand, the bones of her back fragile. How could she tumble down a flight of stairs and still be in one piece?
She sat back a little, although she didn’t let go of him. “I think I got makeup on your shirt.”
He looked down into her puffy eyes, the lashes spiky from the tears. “Oh no. Now the other cops are gonna make fun of me.”
She wiped at her eyes and pushed her hair back behind her ears. He noticed a box of tissues on a cabinet next to some medical supplies, gently extricated himself, and got it for her.
“I’m not going to let him hurt you anymore.” He felt calm. It wasn’t forced anymore. It was as if something had shifted.
“You can’t promise something like that.”
“I can. But you have to tell me what happened.”
She nodded. “I will . . .”
“Corie, I know you’re scared.”
She looked down at her hands and then back up at him. “It’s not that. Evan seemed to know about . . . us. He said awful things.”
“Like what?”
“‘Did he fuck my sister, too?’”
Jack froze.
She held his gaze. “Hit a little close to home, to tell you the truth. And he said you had a record. He said he had you checked out.”
First D’Ambrose, now Markham. Didn’t anyone trust anyone else anymore? He started to give her a stock answer, to say that Evan was talking trash, and then changed his mind. “What were his exact words?”
“He demanded to know what I told you. And then he said that his private life was none of my business, which would be funny if it wasn’t insane.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. I told him to fuck himself. And then I asked him how much money he’d given his whores. In response, he asked if I enjoyed fucking you and then he pushed me down the stairs.”
Jack turned away from her and stared at the cabinet where he’d gotten the tissues, his mind racing. The work Jack had done that afternoon formed a picture of a man who was under control; cautious, calculating. Evan lost control with Corie, but why? He didn’t strike Jack as someone easily goaded.
“Are you good at your job?” Corie asked.
He turned and faced her. “You can ask for another detective. Maybe you should.”
“I don’t want another detective. But I need to know. Have you changed?”
He knew what she meant. Had he?
“I’m not making this about the past,” Corie said. “But I need to know you’re not going to let me down.”
“Yes. I’m good at my job.”
Corie took a deep breath, then gave an almost imperceptible nod. “I don’t think Evan was trying to kill me.”
“Neither do I.” Jack sat back down on the table next to her, although he didn’t touch her.
“I think if he meant to kill me he would have.” She wasn’t asking for reassurance and he didn’t offer any. “It struck me that it was exactly like that night with Brice. I touched Evan first. You don’t do that.” She laughed a short bitter laugh and exhaled sharply.
“Not even me. Not ever.” She snuck a shy glance at him and thought about how to say it. “Not even during intimate moments. You don’t touch Evan.”
“I believe you.”
“He was so goddamned smug. He acted like he was the wronged party. I hit him and he pushed back. Do you want to know what he did after I fell?
“Nothing. He didn’t rush down the stairs. He didn’t try to help me. He stood at the top watching. I was so scared that he was going to come after me. I tried to get up as fast as possible so I could get away. He said, ‘You’re okay.’ Like he was disappointed. Then he left.”
Jack’s throat felt tight and he wanted to hold her again. “You need to let them check you out. You’re safe here. I have an officer posted right outside.”
She nodded. “You know that’s Evan’s style, finding out about you. He’s probably run a background check on the mail carrier and our house cleaners.”
“But he didn’t run a background check on Brice?”
“Oh hell.” She shook her head in disgust. “Of course he did.”
Jack smiled. “I’ll come check on you later.”
Corie leaned back on the table, frowned, and then sat bolt upright again. “Shit. I almost forgot.” She pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of the pocket of her jeans.
“What is this?” Jack smoothed out the piece of paper and looked at it curiously. He already knew the meaning of the Perez and Associates check.
She jabbed her finger at the paper. “From a Swiss bank, no less, for an account I know nothing about. The asshole’s been hiding money from me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“The hell I don’t. Three million dollars? And it’s current. Where the hell did Evan get three million dollars?”
“That’s a lot of money.” Jack thought about his spreadsheet. It was also a lot of motive. But for what?
“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”
“Until I know more? Yep. I’ll get this into evidence and look into the bank account first thing in the morning. Now you stop playing detective and get some rest.”
Corie’s eyes narrowed appraisingly. “You’re going after Evan, aren’t you?”
“I’m going back to work.”
“Same thing, isn’t it?”
Chapter 22
As Evan drove west from Denver into the mountains, Vangie fished in her handbag for some pressed powder and worked on her face in the dim light of the visor mirror. He couldn’t think with her around. Not like Corie. Corie made him feel better. Except not today. Why had she said those things? What had that cop told her? Why did she have to shove him?
He had to get away. Had to think. Vangie’s whining had long ago past the point of annoyance and he entertained fantasies of shoving her out of the car at seventy. In his mind, he saw her body grind and skid to a pulp on the pavement. In the passenger seat, adding insult to injury, she started to hum.
She caught him watching her and giggled. “I can’t get this song out of my head. Do you know it?”
She started to sing it for him and he shoved a plastic trash bag at her. He would have rather put it over her head. “Take everything out of the glove compartment and put it in this bag. Clean the car. Go through all the other storage areas. Don’t miss anything.”
“Why?”
Evan reached across her for the door handle.
Vangie swatted at his hand. “What are you doing? I never understand you.” She cleared out the glove compartment and the storage bins on the doors. Then, with many huffs and sighs, she climbed into the back seat.
Evan glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Make sure you check the very back, too.”
“Seriously?” Another whine. But she did it. “I don’t see anything. There’s probably just the spare tire and stuff.”
Bent over the backseat, her skirt rode up and he could see her thong. “Come on back up here. That’s giving me an idea.” At least there was one way to shut her up for a while. He put his hand on the back of her head and pushed it down towards his lap. “Take your time, it’s a long drive.”
Expertly using her tongue and her hands, Vangie b
rought him to the brink of climax and then paused, letting him relax before she worked him up to the edge again.
“At least there’s one way you’re useful.” Evan shifted in his seat.
“I like doing this.” Vangie scraped her acrylic nails lightly on the underside of his cock.
Evan groaned. “Well, you’re very good at it.”
Vangie giggled, as if she were very clever. “Practice makes perfect.”
About forty miles later, Vangie fixed her lipstick in the light from the back of the visor. “Do you think we can stop somewhere and get a soda or something?”
“Can’t. I should have let you bring something from the hotel.” Some of the edge had gone out of his voice.
Vangie shook her head. “I think it’s sad how your wife doesn’t appreciate you. If I was married to you, I’d want to spend as much time with you as possible. I’d never let you out of my sight.”
“Really.” Evan thought about Corie and the scene on the stairs. His wife wanted nothing more than to get as far away from him as she could. Permanently.
“Do you think it’s going to be okay?”
“Is what going to be okay?”
“The murder charges.”
“Well it would have been much better if you hadn’t gotten chatty with the detectives, but Stu and I can still fix it.”
“It’s not fair. I was only trying to help.”
Evan frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing.” She looked down and pushed at a cuticle with one of her nails. “I was scared and I haven’t been able to sleep right. I’m not thinking straight.”
“You didn’t have that excuse yesterday, though, did you?”
“From now on I’ll do exactly what you say, Evan.”
“I can’t always be telling you what to do.”
“You’re so much smarter than me. Sometimes you tell me things and I don’t understand why at first, but then later on I see how you knew what you were doing all along. You’re amazing.”