She scrolled further. “Here’s something. Cherri was arrested for armed robbery eight years ago in Maryland. The charges were dropped. Grayson, can you get into your system to get the details on this case?”
“It’s unlikely that I can,” he said. “I’m probably still blocked. But Daphne can.”
Grayson called Daphne while Paige went back to her news database, biting at her lower lip. Cherri Dandridge Higgins, she typed. Then added West Virginia and Richard.
One article popped up. A short article, only four paragraphs. But it was enough.
Disturbed, Paige looked up to find Grayson watching her, the phone to his ear.
“I’m on hold,” he said, “waiting for Daphne to run the case. What did you find?”
“How Cherri died,” Paige said and Grayson bent close to read over her shoulder.
“Oh my God,” he murmured. “‘Police were called to the Vista Motel upon receiving several 911 calls from guests who reported loud screams from a second-story room. Police broke down the door to find Richard Higgins stabbing a woman on the bed.’”
“Cherri?” Joseph asked.
“Yes,” Grayson said. “‘On seeing the officers, Higgins attacked them, knife raised. Deputy Derrick Thomas fired three shots, striking Higgins in the chest. Higgins was pronounced dead at the scene. The victim, identified as Higgins’s wife, Cherri Higgins, was airlifted to University Hospital in Morgantown, where she later died. Witnesses at the motel stated that the victim was very pregnant, perhaps as much as nine months.’”
Joseph grimaced. “Shit. Was he on drugs or something?”
“The reporter speculates so,” Paige said. “It says the cops found bags of oxycodone that appeared to have been for distribution. It also says they found two vials of PCP.”
“Probably for his personal use,” Grayson said. “We had a problem with PCP labs popping up around Baltimore about ten years ago.”
“I remember,” Joseph said. “PCP could have caused that level of violence. If she was pregnant, what happened to the baby?”
“It doesn’t say,” Paige said.
“Violet,” Grayson said quietly. “She’s seven, same as Cherri’s baby would be. Violet must be Cherri’s daughter.”
“That makes sense. Silas brought his granddaughter home, raised her as his own child,” Paige murmured, then twisted to look up at Grayson when he abruptly straightened. Apparently Daphne had returned to the line.
“I’m still here,” he said into the phone. His brows lifted high. “Isn’t that interesting?” He listened, then closed his eyes and shook his head. “That should be unbelievable to me, but it’s not. Listen, you be careful when you leave the office tonight. Have security walk you to your car. Better yet, take a cab. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
He hung up and sank into the chair next to Paige. “Cherri’s armed robbery charge was dropped when another woman was accused. The stolen money was found in the other woman’s bedroom closet, along with the gun used in the robbery.”
“No way,” Paige breathed. “In her winter boot?”
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “No. That would have been a little too much, wouldn’t it? But it does get better. Guess who Cherri’s defense attorney was?”
Paige narrowed her eyes. “Bob Bond?”
“One and the same.” Grayson turned to Joseph. “Bond was defense for Ramon Muñoz, too. And the prosecutor who dropped the charges? None other than my boss.”
Joseph’s face darkened. “Sonofabitch. We’ll get him, Grayson. Both of them.”
Paige managed to keep the lid on her own rage, but just barely. “You won’t get Bond. He’s dead. Suicide.”
Grayson looked at her with a frown. “How do you know that?”
“I called his office when I first started investigating for Maria and Elena. I wanted to talk to him, find out if there were any loose ends that he wished he’d followed up on during Ramon’s trial, or any leads he could recommend. You know, things he might have done had Ramon been a paying customer,” she added sourly.
“Ramon’s attorney was pro bono?” Joseph asked.
“No,” Grayson said. “The McClouds paid him. Bond was an attorney with the law office the senator had on retainer.”
“Why would the McClouds pay for Ramon’s lawyer?” Joseph asked.
“Maria told me that the McClouds liked Ramon,” Paige said. “That they wanted him to have the best defense possible. Except…” She paused. “Last night the senator couldn’t even remember Ramon’s name. Called him Roberto. I can’t see him footing the bill.”
“Maybe Mrs. McCloud paid,” Grayson said. “I can see her thinking it was just another charity. Or doing it from guilt, especially if she knew the security video had been switched. If she knew Ramon wasn’t guilty, maybe she hoped Bond would get him off.”
“I’d buy the second one,” Paige said. “But once Ramon was found guilty, Maria said the McClouds cut off their support. Maria and Elena hired another attorney for the appeals, but he was unsuccessful. They tried to get one of the attorneys who specialize in retrying wrongful convictions, but he was already booked out for years.”
“And Elena came to me,” Grayson said quietly.
Paige covered his hand with hers. “What could you have done? Why would you have believed her then? The evidence against Ramon was convincing.”
His jaw tightened. “It didn’t convince you.”
“Sure it did. That’s why I told Elena we needed more. I’d promised Clay I’d walk away from their case if the new evidence wasn’t compelling.” The image of Elena’s bloody body suddenly filled her mind, unbidden. She held it there for a moment, let it fuel her rage before shoving it to the side. “But it turned out to be so compelling that Silas killed her.”
“So how did Silas go from devoted cop to killer?” Joseph asked.
“Let’s assume that Cherri was guilty of the armed robbery,” Grayson said. “Somebody plants evidence and another woman is accused. Maybe Silas is involved in getting his daughter’s charges dropped and maybe he’s not.”
“But at some point he’s either blackmailed into helping frame Ramon or it’s his fee,” Paige said. “Things go well. Ramon is convicted. Nothing happens until Elena walks by Sandoval’s bar and sees that he’s upgraded the place when he shouldn’t have been able to afford to. She and Maria hire me and Elena manages to copy Sandoval’s insurance photos. She has to be eliminated. So does Sandoval and Jorge Delgado.”
“So who attacked you in the garage?” Joseph asked.
Paige shrugged. “And who is the guy paying off Sandoval? Who paid to have Ramon framed in the first place? Rex? His parents? His grandparents?”
“And did Rex kill Crystal Jones?” Grayson asked quietly. He stood up. “Give me fifteen minutes to get dressed. We’ve still got party guests to reinterview. Somebody had to have seen Crystal leave the pool that night. We just have to find that someone.”
She caught his hand, held him in place. “What about Stevie? We need to tell her.”
“I know,” he said, his expression drawn. “I’ll call her in the car.”
He jogged up the stairs, leaving Paige alone with Joseph. She bit her lip. “He doesn’t have a car,” she said. “Anymore.”
“I brought him a loaner.” Joseph tossed a set of keys to the table. “Black Escalade, parked out front. You’ll need to drop me off at my house. I left my car there.”
Paige studied him closely. “I know, you know. About… his father.”
He nodded soberly. “Yeah. I heard. So?”
“So… if you’re worried that I’ll tell anyone, I won’t.”
“I believe you. So does he. For him, believing in anyone is huge. Don’t hurt him.”
“I’ll—” She’d nearly said I’ll try. But there truly was no try in such matters. “I won’t.”
Thursday, April 7, 8:45 a.m.
“I’ll be in touch, Mrs. Shaffer.” PI Sheldon Dupree shook her hand as they conclud
ed their short meeting. “Be careful.”
Adele put her checkbook away. The PI’s retainer had put a dent in her savings, despite keeping his rates modest through low-rent real estate. “I’ll try. Thank you for seeing me this morning. I know it was short notice.”
“You’re quite welcome. Where will you go from here?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m apartment hunting today.”
“Or you could tell your husband the truth and work it out. Either way, I will proceed with the plan we agreed to.”
Telling Darren wasn’t an option even if she’d wanted to. She’d already tried calling him this morning so that she could talk to Allie, to let her baby hear her voice on the phone. He’d declined her calls. She’d drive to his mother’s house before beginning a search for an apartment. And if it was possible, she’d take her baby back.
She picked up the bag containing the cameras Dupree wanted her to mount on her car. They’d capture anyone following her. It was the low-cost option on his menu. She simply couldn’t afford to have him be her shadow. Hopefully she’d see someone following her in time to call 911 before they ran her off the road again.
“I’ll let you know where to reach me when I’m settled.”
He walked her out, leaving with her. “I have a meeting with another client this morning. I’ll be starting on your case later today. Don’t hesitate to call if you’re threatened again.” With a businesslike nod, he started off in the opposite direction from where she parked her car.
Adele walked to her car, parked in the alley around the corner.
She had the keys in the lock when she felt someone behind her. Looking up, she saw the face reflected in the window glass. The face from her nightmares. She opened her mouth to scream, but all that emerged was a hoarse cry as excruciating pain overwhelmed her.
A knife. In my back. Her hands scrabbled for the window. Fight. She turned, staggering, looking her nightmare in the eye for the first time since that day. Rage exploded and she lunged. Then fell to her knees.
Dully she looked down. The knife was now embedded in her gut. The pain came a millisecond later. “I’m going to die,” she mumbled.
“Yes, you will.”
Adele looked up, her vision dimming. “Goddamn you,” she choked. “I had a life. I made myself a life.”
The knife was pulled free, wiped clean on Adele’s jacket. “That was the problem.”
Adele barely felt the shoe that shoved into her shoulder, pushing her face down into the asphalt.
Allie. She’d never hold her baby again.
She watched as her purse was stripped from her arm, unable to lift her head. Unable to do anything to stop this. Just like that day.
Her car started behind her and she could see the taillights from the corner of her eye, blurred through her tears. Adele was alone. So glad Allie wasn’t with me. She tried to claw her way to the street. But everything went dark.
Thursday, April 7, 8:50 a.m.
“This is the place,” Stevie said, stopping at the crime-scene tape strung around the area on the edge of the woods near the nursing home.
J.D. walked around the perimeter, then ducked under the tape, staring down at the bloodstained ground. “The sniper stood here,” he said. “It’s the only place with a clear path to the light post he shot instead of Smith.”
“He told Grayson that he missed on purpose.”
“Oh, he totally missed on purpose,” J.D. said. “A sniper with cataracts could have made that shot. The shot that killed Elena Muñoz was a halfway decent challenge. This would have been child’s play.” He crouched to study the blood left behind. “There were two guys, the sniper and the bomber. I’m assuming the blood is the bomber’s, since the sniper was alive enough to call Grayson.”
“I assumed the same. CSU took samples of the blood, but it’ll be tomorrow before we have a result. The bomb tech sent me a list of cons who’ve used the same kind of fuse. I’ve got DNA lined up for comparison.” She looked toward the road. “At some point the sniper figures out that the bomb’s been set. When? And how?”
“At least after Grayson drove away. If he knew beforehand, he would have stopped the car with the bullet to a tire instead of waiting to call him on the phone.”
“But why shoot at Grayson, meaning to miss?” she asked. “Why the charade?”
“Somebody was watching him? Maybe he knew the other guy was here.” J.D. rose. “Grayson’s heard the sniper’s voice before?”
“He’s sure he has, but can’t remember where.” Stevie ducked under the tape and stood beside J.D., looking down at the bloodstains. “It’s heavier in patches.”
“Whoever got shot lay here bleeding for a while.” J.D. pointed. “Arm, arm, and knee?”
The two of them looked up when CSU’s Drew Peterson approached. “There was a fourth shot to the head. There’s brain matter right here.” Drew pointed to a marker. “We found three bullets in the ground. I sent them to Ballistics.”
“The survivor dragged the injured guy,” Stevie said, walking along the path created in the leaves and dirt, head bent to get a closer look. Something caught her eye. It was almost white. She crouched to see more. “You guys done here? Can I dig a little?”
“We’ve taken pictures. We haven’t gone over that area with tweezers yet.” Drew crouched beside her, a sifter in his hand. He scooped the dirt surrounding the white paper into the sifter and shook until all that remained was a wallet-sized photograph.
“Could it have been dropped here before last night?” J.D. asked.
Drew shook his head. “We had so much rain the day before yesterday. Had it been dropped before yesterday morning, it would be falling apart by now, but it’s intact. Looks like a little girl. An old picture, from the hair and clothes she’s wearing.”
Pulling on gloves, Stevie carefully lifted the photograph and held it to the light.
And frowned. She’d seen this picture before. “No,” she murmured.
“Who is it?” J.D. asked.
She said nothing, unable to believe her eyes. A sick feeling grabbed her gut. Disbelief. Pure unadulterated denial. She turned the picture over, devastated when she saw “Cherri” scrawled in the corner in a childish hand. Her throat closed.
“Who?” J.D. asked again. Kindly.
“Her name is Cherri,” she whispered. “Cherri Dandridge.”
Drew’s indrawn breath was sharp. “Dandridge? Silas? Not possible.”
J.D.’s brows knit. “Silas? As in your old partner? This is his daughter?”
“Yeah.” Stevie rose, the photo in her numb hand. “I can’t believe this, J.D. Not Silas. It can’t be.”
“Could he have made that shot Tuesday? Could he have hit Elena Muñoz?”
Stevie nodded dully. “With his eyes closed. He carried this picture around with him everywhere. He lost Cherri a year before we got partnered up. Murder. I lost Paul and our son a few months later. Also murder. Silas helped me go on.” Her voice trembled, broke. “I won’t believe he’d kill in cold blood.”
“There’s got to be another explanation,” Drew said. “I knew Silas Dandridge my whole career. He’d never do this.”
“Then let’s go talk to him,” J.D. said. “Find out how a picture of his daughter ended up in this crime scene.”
“He always carried it,” Stevie murmured. “In his shirt pocket.” Her cell began to ring. It wasn’t a number she recognized, so she let it go to voice mail. “He has another child. Violet’s a year older than Cordelia.” Her cell phone began to ring again, the same number. Irritated, she answered. “Mazzetti.”
“Stevie. It’s Grayson.”
Stevie closed her eyes. How could she tell Grayson what she’d found? He’d sworn he’d heard the man’s voice before. If it was Silas… God, it can’t be Silas. But if it was, Grayson would know his voice. And Silas wouldn’t let Grayson die. That much fit.
“You got a new number,” she said tonelessly.
For a moment all she
could hear was road noise, the honking of a horn in the background. Then Grayson’s heavy sigh. “I know who he is, Stevie.”
The tone of his voice had her heart breaking. “So do I,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry, Stevie,” Grayson said. “I’m so damn sorry. How do you know?”
“He was here. At the nursing home. He dropped a photo of his daughter.” Her eyes burned. “How do you know? Did you remember?”
“Yes, finally. Paige found a TV news clip where he was talking, so I could be sure before I told you. It… it was him, Stevie.”
A sob shook her. “No. How could he? He killed that poor woman, Grayson.”
“And probably Delgado.”
Stevie thought about the scene, the blood all over the Dora the Explorer wallpaper. The note on the mirror. And the gun dumped near the Muñoz family home. And her devastation trebled. “He framed the Muñoz brothers.”
“I know. He had a daughter. Cherri.”
She looked at the photo she held. “She died, years ago.”
“Eight years ago Cherri had armed robbery charges against her dropped. The stolen goods were found in another woman’s bedroom closet.”
“Like Ramon,” she murmured.
“Yes. Cherri’s attorney also represented Ramon Muñoz. Somehow Silas got pulled into this. I don’t know how or why, but that he framed someone for the Delgado murder isn’t contrary to his MO.”
A terrible calm settled on her shoulders. “We need to find him. I’ll put out a BOLO.”
J.D. tapped her shoulder. “Can we use his daughter to draw him? Violet, I mean.”
“I think she’s his granddaughter,” Grayson said, hearing J.D.’s question. “Cherri was pregnant when she was murdered.”
“He never told me that. I only knew that he and Rose adopted a baby shortly after Cherri’s death. I wonder what else I didn’t know.” She thought about what Grayson had said the night before. That he had some things to tell her. Personal things. “I wonder what else I don’t know about you.”