No One Left to Tell

  “Did you see Ramon Muñoz there that night?” Paige asked.

  “If I did, I didn’t know him. I remember thinking afterward that Rex was lucky they’d found the person who did it, that he’d have had a hard time proving his innocence otherwise.” Betsy paused, frowned. “But you didn’t find the right guy, did you?”

  “You don’t seem terribly surprised,” Grayson commented.

  She sighed. “I guess because I always wondered if Rex had done it.”

  “You said he left the pool,” Grayson said. “When and why and for how long?”

  “A couple times he went to snort more coke. Once he said he was going to find that ‘Amber bitch.’ That’s how she introduced herself that night. She didn’t go by Crystal.”

  “Was he angry enough to strangle and stab Crystal?” Grayson asked.

  “I don’t know. He was mad, but Rex had never been violent. More self-destructive. He hated himself, hated his family. They looked all perfect on the outside, but they were one fucked-up tribe. I mean, look at the parties they allowed.”

  “The senator and his wife said they didn’t know about the parties,” Grayson told her. “They said they were asleep that night. Stepdad was, too. Mom was out of town.”

  “Rex said they knew exactly what went on. Of course when he got high, he said all kinds of things.” She shrugged. “My folks were absentee, but not like Rex’s parents. When my parents found out about the drugs, they shoved my ass into rehab. Four times. It finally took. Rex wasn’t so lucky. His mom traveled all the time and his stepdad wasn’t involved in his life, really. Rex grew up with his grandparents, mostly.”

  Paige found no sympathy for Rex McCloud. “How long had you known each other?”

  “Since we were little. Rex was always trying to impress his grandparents, but they just weren’t that into him. Freshman year of high school he started acting out, got expelled. Finally he got shipped away to military school. When he came home and started college, he wanted a good time. He partied hard, looking for it.”

  “You said he had a lot of guys there that night,” Grayson said. “How many?”

  “More than usual. Maybe twice as many.”

  Paige took out her notebook. “Do you remember any of their names?”

  “I’d never met most of them. There was a guy named Grant. One they called Bear.” She grimaced. “Hairy.”

  Paige looked up from her book. “A boy named Harry?”

  “No. Bear was hairy. Very. That’s why I remember him.”

  “Grant, Bear, anyone else?”

  “The normal crowd. There was T.J. and Brendon and Skippy. And a couple guys from Georgetown that I can’t remember. It was six years ago and I was high. Am I going to be in trouble for lying about Rex’s alibi?”

  “I don’t know,” Grayson said. “Maybe. It would have been so much better if you’d told the truth. A man may have spent six years in prison for a murder he didn’t do.”

  Betsy flinched. “I’m sorry. I made a lot of mistakes when I was high. I don’t know how to make amends for that.”

  “You can’t,” Paige said sharply, then felt Grayson’s shoe brush her ankle and she bit her lip to keep from saying more.

  “Is there any more you can tell us?” Grayson asked.

  Betsy wagged her head sadly. “No. Nothing about that night.”

  Paige thought about Brittany’s envelope. “Do you know what a ‘MAC’ is?”

  Betsy looked up, confused. “Like a computer?”

  “No. Like, ‘I’m a MAC, Loud and Proud.’”

  “No. I’ve never heard that before. I’m sorry.”

  Grayson stood. “Thank you for your time, Miss Malone. We appreciate it.”

  Paige seethed silently as they walked back to Grayson’s car and she buckled up.

  He started the car. “Go ahead. Get it out.”

  “It was all ‘poor, poor Rex’ and ‘poor, poor me.’ Born with all the opportunities and she pisses it away. Ramon worked hard, built a life for himself and his family, and he’s accused, while they… party naked with preppy boys named T.J. and Brendon and Bear. And Skippy,” she spat. “What kind of mother names her son Skippy?”

  “Usually a Skippy’s given name is really stuffy and ends with ‘the fourth.’” Grayson glanced at her. “You didn’t have anything growing up, did you? Materially, I mean.”

  “No, because I had a mother who’d rather shoot herself up than feed me.” She told herself to shut up, but the words kept coming. “By the time I was Caleb Jones’s age I was running cons, the cute kid they’d send in first to cry for my mommy. I’d distract the mark while my mother and her bed buddy du jour would steal them blind. If I’d had one-millionth of what those assholes shoved up their rich noses, I wouldn’t have gone to bed hungry every night.” She drew a breath and let it out. “I’m sorry. That was total TMI.”

  “I figured as much,” he said evenly. “Not the con part, although I’ve heard it before. So what happened?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He met her eyes for a moment. “How did you become wonderful?”

  His question slapped her hard and her eyes filled, humiliating her. She turned to the window, focusing on the pretty trees lining the streets. “My grandfather.”

  “He saved you?”

  “Yes. I was eight years old and hadn’t been to school in months. He’d been looking for me, ever since the last time my mother came and took me away.”

  “You stayed with them sometimes?”

  “Yeah. When my mother couldn’t stand the sight of me anymore.” Her words were bitter, but Grayson didn’t seem to mind. “She’d come for me when she ‘missed me.’”

  “When she needed you to run cons.”

  “Yes. She left me at my grandparents’ one summer and never showed up when school started. My grandmother enrolled me in school. I was… happy. Then my mom came one day and got me out of school early. She took me away and months passed. I thought nobody was coming for me, but my grandfather had hired a PI to find her. The PI did and together he and my grandfather came for me. I didn’t see him coming.”

  “You didn’t expect him to come?”

  “No, I physically didn’t see him coming. I was hungry and was rummaging in a garbage can. The neighbors threw away some damn good stuff.”

  A muscle twitched in Grayson’s cheek. “And then?”

  “He grabbed me in his arms and said, ‘Skatten min.’ It means ‘my treasure’ and he used to say that to me when he’d tuck me in. I knew I’d be okay.”

  Grayson’s throat worked for a minute before he spoke. “He took you home with him?”

  “Yes. He and my grandmother filed for adoption and my mother agreed.”

  “Did you take their name? Holden doesn’t sound very Norwegian.”

  “It’s not. We were Westgaards. My mother married when I was a baby and changed my name, too. I always thought I’d change it back when I turned eighteen, but by then I was into martial arts and my name had started to mean something.”

  “You loved your grandparents,” he murmured, as if to reassure himself.

  “Oh yes. Lord knows I didn’t deserve them half the time. I was a hard-to-handle kid.”

  “Like how?”

  “I got in trouble because I didn’t know how to interact with the normals. Broke my grandparents’ hearts more than once. It was Granddad that got me into karate. He’d heard about this guy on TV who was working wonders with the bad kids. Granddad signed me up. Sold some furniture to pay for my lessons. I guess he saved me again.”

  “I’m sure he thought you were a worthwhile investment.”

  She swallowed hard. “He lived long enough to see me pull it together. Never saw me win a tournament, though. But Gran was there, every time she could be. I know rich kids have their problems, too, but to throw so much away for so little…”

  “Money can make things too accessible.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t accept that. You had money a
nd you didn’t party naked in a pool, snorting coke like air. Did you?”

  “Hell, no,” he said, sounding shocked at the thought. “My mother would have grounded me for life.” He paused thoughtfully. “Actually, no. It would have broken her heart if I’d gone wild, and I respected her too much to even consider it.”

  She felt a pang of longing. He was a good man. Who you will have to walk away from when this is over.

  “And we didn’t have money,” he added. “We lived with the Carters and they had money. They were, and still are, incredibly generous. I was lucky. But you’re right. Rich or poor, people make choices. Bad choices have consequences. At least that’s the way it’s supposed to be. It’s why I do what I do.”

  The pang in her heart became a physical pain. Here was the kind of man she’d been waiting for… forever. “You were lucky,” she said. “You had a mother who loved you. Taught you to be a decent man. That’s everything.”

  He kept his eyes straight ahead, his body seeming to still. “That’s true.” He was quiet for a long moment. “I think it’s time we had a chat with Rex McCloud.”

  She blinked, surprised at the subject change but more by the solemnity with which he said it. “You said he’s on house arrest. Where, at the estate?”

  “No. The family owns a building downtown. Mostly offices, a few penthouse condos. Rex is there. No need for the GPS. I know where it is.”

  Wednesday, April 6, 6:15 p.m.

  A martini was placed at his elbow. “I hope you had a productive day, sir.”

  “I did, actually.” A few well-placed sets of eyes and ears had informed him that Mr. Grayson Smith had taken two rooms at the Peabody Hotel. He’d later been seen leaving with Paige Holden, who had left her suitcase behind. Now he knew where she’d be tonight. So far she hadn’t stumbled on anything he couldn’t fix. He needed to make sure that did not change.

  “Can I get you anything else, sir?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  The woman nodded and backed out of the room in the old-school way. She’d come recommended for her skills and her discretion. He was never sure what his servants might see, so he paid for their silence. It had been an important lesson, taught him by someone who’d learned through experience.

  He’d taken a few sips of the martini when his business cell rang. It was a call forwarded from one of his older numbers. A six-year-old number to be exact. “Hello?”

  “Hi. This is Brittany Jones.”

  His brows lifted. “It’s been a while,” he said. To his knowledge, she’d been a good girl, following the dictates of their arrangement to the letter. “What can I do for you?”

  “I have some information that you’ll find valuable.”

  He had to smile. The girl possessed guts. And avarice. She’d been an easy target six years ago. She realized she was being paid more than a fair price for her silence and didn’t balk. Unlike Sandoval, who’d never been satisfied.

  “Tell me what you have and I’ll tell you what it’s worth.”

  “I got a visit this afternoon from Grayson Smith and the woman from those TV videos, Paige Holden. They’re convinced that Ramon Muñoz didn’t kill my sister.”

  “And this surprised you?”

  “Being contacted? Yes. That Ramon Muñoz wasn’t guilty? No. You wouldn’t have paid me so well to keep quiet if he’d been the one.”

  “So what do you have for me that I really need to know?”

  “You knew they’d come to see me, didn’t you?”

  “I’m not surprised. They now have a cold case. Reinterviewing the victim’s closest relative makes perfect sense. What else do you have?”

  “I know where they’ll be tonight at eleven o’clock.”

  It was such a specific time, his curiosity was piqued. “Where?”

  “I’d like to be paid.”

  “Where are you calling from, Miss Jones?”

  “From a pay phone, which was damn hard to find.”

  “But smart.” She’d called the number he’d given her five years ago in the event of an emergency. That she’d kept it all this time spoke volumes. “I could see my way clear to pay you. Tell me what you know and we can set a price.”

  “At eleven tonight they’ll be at the Carrollwood Nursing Home. They called earlier and asked the front desk about me. They pretended to be a doctor and wouldn’t tell the desk what it was about, but it was them. I’m sure. I gave them some things of Crystal’s that will make them ask a lot of questions.”

  He frowned. “What did you give them?”

  “Evidence of one of Crystal’s old marks. She was blackmailing him at the time of her death. He didn’t kill her, but it’ll give them a rabbit to chase for a while.”

  He was reluctantly impressed. She’d become very smart. “Who was this mark?”

  “His name is Aristotle Finch. He lives in Hagerstown, where Crystal was arrested for prostitution when she was eighteen. He was one of her regular customers.”

  “How long did he pay?”

  “Up until she died. So how much is this worth?”

  “Ten thousand.”

  “Twenty.”

  He laughed. “You’ve already told me everything. You have no chips.”

  “I’ve got a son to raise,” she said, her voice going from amiable to thin and bitter. “Ten thousand more means nothing to you. It means everything to me right now.”

  “I’ll go twenty, but I want you to do something else.”

  “What?” she asked warily.

  “I want you to call your friend at the nursing home and tell her that when Smith and Holden get there, she needs to keep them inside as long as she can. Got it?”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, alarmed.

  “Exactly what you thought I’d do when you called me.”

  “If I tell my friend to keep them longer and then they die, she’ll know I was involved.”

  “You didn’t expect ten grand more for nothing, did you?”

  “Make it an even twenty-five to make up for the extra trouble and I’ll do it.”

  Greedy bitch. “Do you have the same account information?”

  “Yes.”

  He heard the relief in her voice. “I’ll make the arrangements. And Miss Jones?” he added mildly. “Greediness was very bad for your sister’s health. It would be a shame for that son you’re raising to become an orphan.” He hung up, shaking his head.

  Without the kid, she might have been a potential hire. But kids made people do stupid things. Silas was the perfect case in point. And without the kid, he doubted Brittany Jones would have pushed for the money. She worked at a nursing home. That wasn’t the behavior of someone who had grand schemes.

  He ran a search on the Carrollwood Nursing Home. It was located in a fairly rural area, with undeveloped acreage around it. Lots of hills. Hills were good for what he had in mind. And a rural location was more appetizing than the bustle of the Peabody Hotel. The Peabody had too many cameras. Too many staff and too many witnesses.

  He sipped on his martini as he placed the next call. “It’s me.”

  “We still on?” Kapansky asked gruffly. It was his natural voice after his larynx had been damaged in a prison fight. Kapansky claimed women found it a turn-on.

  He thought Kapansky was a few bulbs short of a chandelier. But the man did have his skills. “Yes, but we’re changing the venue and adding a guest.”

  “Who?”

  “You remember a guy named Silas?”

  Kapansky growled. “Yeah. Every goddamn day. He’s the one who put me in the joint. Stole fifteen goddamn years of my life.”

  Which, of course, he’d known. Having cops on the payroll meant knowing how to deal with them if the need arose. He knew many of the cons Silas had put away. Kapansky was particularly bitter. That, combined with his other skills, made him very well-suited for this job. “How would you like to take him out?”

  Kapansky laughed, a scraping sound. “I’d pay you.”

&nbs
p; He chuckled. He’d known that, too. “I hoped you’d be interested.”

  “Where?” Kapansky demanded. “When?”

  “Hopefully tonight. I’ll call you when I know for sure.”

  “I can’t wait. Can I hurt him first?”

  He chuckled again. “As long as you make it quick and get out. Plus you still have to do the first job. Silas is just gravy.”

  “You’ll get your first job. As for Silas, it’ll be quick and extremely painful.”

  He drained his martini. “Excellent.”

  Wednesday, April 6, 6:25 p.m.

  Grayson slid the car to a stop on the curb outside the McClouds’ building, ready to go to work. Damn ready to get the truth from Rex McCloud. He’d lost his mojo there for a while. Been a little rudderless. Having the rug ripped out from under him by Charlie Anderson had shaken him even more than he’d thought.

  But I’m back, he thought. Paige’s outburst had somehow knocked him back on course. Probably because she was damn right. She’d never lost her focus. This was all about Crystal Jones and Ramon Muñoz. They were the real victims here.

  Everyone else… “They’re all going down,” he murmured.

  Paige looked up from her laptop. “Who? Who’s going down?”

  The drive through rush-hour traffic had been quiet. She’d withdrawn after sharing yet another heartbreaking chapter in her life, taking her laptop from her backpack and muttering that she was going to look for MAC. He’d let her have her space.

  He’d had plenty to think about. “Everyone who lied about, covered up, and in any way benefited from the murder of Crystal Jones and the framing of Ramon Muñoz.”

  “Even if they have family connections?”

  He frowned. “Fuck their family connections.”

  She nodded once. “That’s more like it.”

  Her approval warmed him. “Any luck with the search?”

  She blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “The search for ‘I’m a MAC, Loud and Proud.’”

  “No,” she said. “There isn’t much here on Senator McCloud’s campaign. I searched eBay, too. Sometimes they have political memorabilia for sale.”

  “Made of plastic?”

  “A local person might have had it in a box with a bunch of other stuff they cleaned out of their garage. It was worth a try. The slogan itself may not be important. What is important is how Crystal came to have it. Especially if she got it from Rex.”