“How did Franz and Stella find everyone involved in Zeke Marshall’s death anyway?” Callie asked. “How did their PIs manage to do it when the police investigation at the time came up empty-handed?”
Mason pushed his plate aside, wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Stella Daguerre left the PI’s report for us to read. In a safe. Time helped. Any cold-case cop will tell you this—time changes things. Alliances shift. People die. Old threats, old fears, suddenly no longer matter. People who kept silent will suddenly talk for any number of reasons. Bottom line, they found the witness of the hit-and-run pretty much the same way Dan Whitlock did. A female investigator did most of the legwork. She spoke to old owners of the stores along the road where Zeke Marshall was hit, and she interviewed homeowners who’d lived there, or still did. They all confirmed that women habitually sold sex on that corner fourteen years ago—”
“But if Whitlock did this, and this PI did it, the cops must have been able to do the same back then?” countered Callie.
“Yeah, but when the VPD detectives located the pimp who controlled the sex trade in that area, no one would speak to the cops. No one would say which girl had been there that night. That pimp is now behind bars, doing time for a homicide and human trafficking, and he’s going to be away for a very long time. The PI visited him. He had nothing to lose, and everything to gain by appearing helpful, so he told her a young woman named Katarina Vasiliev saw the accident. He also informed the PI that Dan Whitlock had paid him to give Katarina Vasiliev up, and Whitlock in turn paid an ex-cop with alcohol issues to go threaten Katarina and force her to leave town.”
“Jackie Blunt,” Callie said.
Mason nodded. “The pimp said he was aware Katarina had taken a car registration plate and a backpack from the scene of the hit-and-run. He told the PI it was a vanity plate. And he said Katarina’s old roommate had seen both the plate and Jackie Blunt. The PI hunted down the old roommate, found her in an old boardinghouse in East Van. She’s on oxygen and pretty much on her own kind of death row. She said she remembered the vanity plate. It was MONEAL.”
“She remembered? After all this time?”
He reached for a cup of juice, sipped, and winced at the taste.
Callie gave a wry smile. “I know. It’s awful. Requires special kid taste buds.”
“No kidding.” He set the cup down. “And yeah, she remembered. She said Katarina was terrified and showed the plate to her. The woman, who’d also been a drug-addicted and underage hooker at the time, had been so hungry and short of cash that the letters MONEAL made her think money for a meal. And the phrase stuck with her because Katarina was ultimately paid a big bunch of money to hand that plate over to Jackie Blunt.”
“Katarina got money for her next meals.”
“Exactly. Except Katarina ran into trouble again in Victoria. Was then arrested. Convicted. Did her time. And turned around. The PI did a name search and turned up the legal name-change application.”
“Revealing Deborah Strong.”
“Bingo.”
“And then a vehicle registration search turned up MONEAL as a vanity plate once belonging to Monica McNeill. Moneal?” Callie said.
“Correct. Additional records searches revealed a BMW was sold from BC into Alberta by a guy already on police radar for organized crime links via his brother, and for doing chop shop work for a biker gang.”
“Bart Kundera.”
“The PI actually tracked down the BMW—it’s still in use, different color, but she matched the manufacturer’s serial numbers to the BMW Monica had bought new out of the box. Repair work to the front of the BMW was consistent with it having been damaged in the hit-and-run.”
“This PI firm is good.”
“Run by a bunch of ex-cops. Extensive resources on both sides of the US-Canadian border. Plus, they had time and a whole bunch of Franz Gottman’s money on their side.”
“What about Nathan and Steven—how were they found by this firm?”
“From the file in the safe, it seems the PI firm did not manage to link Nathan McNeill, but Franz Gottman and Stella Daguerre began to believe he had to be linked. Monica likely would not have been able to hide it herself, and she’d have needed help to get rid of the car. Nathan worked not far from Bart Kundera’s chop shop. He also worked with a colleague who’d used Bart Kundera’s services before, and who could have recommended Bart to Nathan, or at least mentioned him in the past. Nathan was invited on the Forest Lodge junket either way, as Monica’s plus-one.”
“Franz probably figured it would add nice tension between Steven and Monica,” said Callie.
Mason nodded. “And Nathan likely tipped his own hand in the pressure cooker of the lodge.”
“He fed Steven the mushrooms?”
“We’re not sure yet. But according to Stella’s statement on that last bit of camcorder footage, she didn’t do it,” said Mason.
“So once Franz’s PI found Whitlock, from there she chased the money?” Callie asked.
“Yeah. Because someone had to have paid Whitlock a bunch to retrieve the BMW vanity plate and silence the witness. The PI discovered Whitlock used to handle dirty jobs for a top Vancouver lawyer. Who in turn was known about town as a ‘fixer’ for high-end clients. Hush money payments, that kind of thing. The lawyer was Richard Ormond, from Bates, Ormond, Rhys, and Associates. The law firm also contracted at the time with a legit private investigative agency—BCI Limited—which terminated its contract with the firm because of Ormond’s shady connections with Whitlock. They in no way wanted their PIs to be associated with Whitlock’s work.”
“Dan Whitlock was known to the police?”
“For crossing lines, yes. He liked to work around the edges of the law. Franz’s PI located one of the old BCI Limited investigators, who shared the names of some of Ormond’s key ‘dirty work’ clients.”
“Was that ethical—to share those names?” Callie asked.
“He apparently told Franz’s PI he had no qualms. In his opinion the work was dirty anyway. And one of the names that came up was Dr. Steven Bodine of the Oak Street Surgical Clinic. She checked all the names out, but Bodine’s was the name that came up in connection with Monica McNeill. Through a children’s charity foundation. She dug deeper, learned from a friend of Bodine’s ex-wife that Bodine had had several affairs, and one of them was rumored to have been with grocery heiress Monica McNeill. The affair was alleged to have occurred over the period prior to the hit-and-run, and had ended abruptly right after the hit-and-run. And the PI figured she had him—the male driver was Steven Bodine. Estelle Marshall had told the cops she’d glimpsed two occupants in the BMW that night. A male driver and a female passenger.”
Callie swore softly. “The man who hit and killed Zeke Marshall was a doctor—he could’ve perhaps helped Zeke. Maybe even saved the child’s life.”
“Instead, he fled.”
“And Stella didn’t notice a vanity plate on the hit-and-run car?”
“She was fixated on her child, and the driver’s face as the car sped off.”
“But why did the PI assume that Steven was the driver, and not Nathan McNeill, who could have been driving his wife?”
“Because it was Steven Bodine who went to great lengths and expense to retrieve Monica’s plate and to silence the witness through his personal fixer.”
“Of course. Shit.” She dragged her hand over her ponytail. “You can see now why I wouldn’t actually make a good cop. Or a good criminal, for that matter.”
He laughed.
Her mind turned to Stella. Being a mother. Failing a child, and being persecuted for it. Losing everything. “Do you think Stella got what she wanted in the end?” she asked quietly.
“I think Stella is at peace now.”
She nodded slowly. “Kind of makes one feel like holding one’s own children tight after all this.” She regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. “Oh . . . I’m sorry. I—”
He smiled sadly. “It�
��s okay. Benny’s lucky to have you.” He paused. “So is Peter.”
She felt heat rise in her cheeks. “I . . . We should wrap this up. Get everyone back to the bus.” She met his gaze. “Thanks, Mason. For doing this for the kids.”
“Takes a village.” He got to his feet, hesitated. “Like I said, we make a good team.”
“Yeah. We do.”
And as she watched him walk over to the table of laughing children, she knew the town had scored big in getting Mason Deniaud. And because of him, a little part of herself had come back to life, too.
No matter what lay ahead, it was good to have a friend. A man like Mason—he’d have her back if she ever needed it. He’d be there for Benny, too.
And whether Stella had felt good about it or not, she’d found justice for little Zeke Marshall. The truth had been told, in her son’s name.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It’s an author’s dream to work with a team like Alison Dasho, Charlotte Herscher, and agent Amy Tannenbaum—I can’t thank you all enough for your editorial guidance, publishing expertise, and support. I’m one lucky writer to have crossed paths with you all. Deep thanks also to the rest of the crew at Montlake, and the Jane Rotrosen Agency.
This book was written during a challenging time in my family’s life, and I thank my brother, John J. White, for taking time out of his busy schedule to fly from Australia to help keep the home fires burning while I struggled to meet my deadlines between daily trips to hospitals. Melanie White, thank you for sparing him, and for waking up early to free Skittle! Roxy Tamboline and Joanne White—it wouldn’t have happened without your support, either. And I can’t say enough for the doctors and nurses who helped my husband pull through a life-threatening illness, and who are still there for my mum.
Also, a big, big thanks goes to my youngest daughter, Marlin Beswetherick, for the brainstorming chats during our forest walks. I can’t wait for the day you write your own novels, kiddo, because you have a story brain like few I know! And I just wish I could read books even half as fast as you manage to swallow them whole.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2013 Paul Beswetherick
Loreth Anne White is a bestselling author of thrillers, mysteries, and romantic suspense. A three-time RITA finalist, she is also the recipient of the Overall 2017 Daphne du Maurier Award, the Romantic Times Reviewers’ Choice Award, the National Readers’ Choice Award, and the Romantic Crown for Best Romantic Suspense and Best Book Overall. In addition, she’s a Booksellers’ Best finalist and a multiple CataRomance Reviewers’ Choice Award winner. A former journalist who has worked in both South Africa and Canada, she now resides in the Pacific Northwest with her family. When Loreth isn’t writing, you will find her skiing, biking, or hiking the trails with her dog (a.k.a. the Black Beast) or open-water swimming. She calls this work, because that’s when the best ideas come. Visit her at www.lorethannewhite.com.
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