No One Left to Tell

  Grayson watched Hyatt stride away, then turned to Paige, a smile on his face.

  “With Adele’s eyewitness testimony and the DNA on the dress, we can put McCloud away for rape and his wife for facilitation. Then if we’re really lucky, we can maneuver them into turning on each other for all the murders.”

  Paige smiled back. “Just like TV. Except the prosecutor is better-looking in real life.”

  Twenty-six

  Cumberland, Maryland

  Friday, April 8, 4:00 p.m.

  Grayson clipped the ID badge on his lapel. He’d been to North Branch Correctional Institution many times throughout his career as a prosecutor. Every time was important. Every time he’d be another step closer to getting justice for a victim.

  But today… He’d never approached a meeting with so much dread.

  “Relax,” Paige whispered. “It’ll be what it’ll be.” She clipped her badge on her blouse. “I feel twenty pounds lighter.”

  “No shock there,” Grayson said. “That’s how much metal you left with the guard when you disarmed.” The guard’s eyes had grown wider with each weapon she’d added to the pile.

  “I feel very vulnerable at the moment,” she said.

  I feel like I’m going to be sick, he thought.

  They were escorted to a small conference room where a man in an orange jumpsuit waited. He sat quietly, looking down at the table, his manacled hands folded before him.

  “Ramon,” Paige said softly. “I’m Paige Holden. I was a friend of Elena’s.”

  Ramon looked up and Grayson had to fight the impulse to flinch. Ramon’s face was battered, old bruises yellowed and fading. New bruises had nearly swollen one eye shut. Nearly. But not swollen enough to hide the man’s blank expression.

  Ramon’s eyes were flat. Dead. Other than lifting his head, he didn’t acknowledge that Paige had said a word. These were the eyes of a man who’d given up. Who’d been beaten into submission. Who didn’t care.

  You put him here, Smith. You did this.

  No. I did my duty. I did my job. He swallowed hard. I did my job too well.

  Paige sat at the table, flicking a meaningful glance at the chair next to her. Grayson took the hint, sitting beside her. There was the tiniest light of hate in Ramon’s eyes.

  He remembers me. How could he forget?

  Grayson couldn’t find his voice. Silence filled the room and then Paige began to speak for him.

  “Like I said, I’m Paige. This is Grayson Smith of the state’s attorney’s office. I’m so sorry for the loss of Elena and Maria. They were good women.”

  “Guard,” Ramon said with no inflection whatsoever. “Take me back to my cell.”

  “No,” Paige cried when Ramon stood up. “Wait. Please. I was with Elena when she died. I know what happened. Ramon, she died loving you.”

  “No. She didn’t love me.”

  “She slept with Denny Sandoval—for you. To get evidence that you were innocent. She found it, Ramon. She found proof of your alibi. And it got her killed.”

  Ramon’s body went still. “I don’t believe it.”

  “It’s true,” Grayson said quietly. “The evidence presented at your trial had been tampered with. Witnesses, paid to lie. You were set up to take the blame for the murder of Crystal Jones. We know that now.”

  “Elena was with Sandoval to get into his computer, Ramon,” Paige said urgently. “She found photos that proved you were in that bar the night of the murder. And which proved that Sandoval had been paid off. He’s dead now.”

  “I know,” Ramon murmured. His eyes were still flat. He still stood, motionless. “I saw it on TV. He committed suicide after he killed Elena.”

  “No,” Paige said, “that’s not true. He was killed by the man who paid for his silence. Who orchestrated the frame. His name was Stuart Lippman and he worked for your defense attorney. They were both dirty.”

  “Bob Bond,” Ramon said.

  “He’s dead,” Paige said. “So is Lippman. They’d framed other people for crimes they didn’t do. Paid by the families of the true perpetrators. We know this.”

  Ramon slowly sat. “Elena did this?”

  Paige nodded. “She did. She started a huge chain reaction, exposing the dirty lawyers and a lot of other people. She and your mother hired me to help you. I’m a private investigator. They believed in your innocence. Elena never stopped believing. She never stopped loving you. I was with her when she died and those were her last words. She made me promise to tell you. So here I am. Your wife gave her life for you.”

  Ramon’s eyes closed, the hands he folded in front of him clenched into fists. “Who killed her?”

  “An ex-cop who was on Lippman’s payroll.”

  Ramon went still once again. “Silas Dandridge,” he said.

  Grayson blinked. “How do you know Dandridge?” he asked.

  “He came to the bar,” Ramon said woodenly. “My brothers told me. For months after I was arrested he’d come to the bar and sit. Just sit. And watch.”

  “Intimidating anyone who considered telling the truth,” Grayson said.

  “Why didn’t they tell someone?” Paige asked.

  “Who were they going to tell?” Ramon asked. “The cops? No. But it was no secret. Everyone knows Silas Dandridge.”

  “He’s dead,” Grayson said, and for the first time saw life in Ramon’s eyes.

  Briefly they flashed with fury and hate, then the emotion was gone. “Good.”

  “Jorge Delgado is also dead,” Paige said.

  Ramon’s nostrils flared. “May he burn in hell.”

  Paige nodded. “I guess I can see how you’d feel that way.”

  Ramon tilted his head in Grayson’s direction. “He can burn in hell, too.”

  Paige drew a breath. “He nearly died trying to prove your innocence. So did I.”

  “Like it matters?”

  “It does to me,” Paige said, clearly annoyed. “I’ve been shot at, knifed, and nearly blown up. Since Tuesday.”

  Ramon met her eyes, lifted his shackled hands. “Pardon me if I don’t clap.”

  “I don’t expect you to clap,” she said sharply. Then she sighed. “I don’t expect anything from you, Ramon. That’s not why I did any of this. I did it for your mother. For Elena. Because they loved you. Mr. Smith did it because he recognized his case had been manipulated. That you’d been denied a fair trial.”

  “And that you never should have been charged to begin with,” Grayson said.

  Ramon closed his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “What doesn’t matter?” Grayson asked.

  “None of it.”

  “I met with Executive Assistant State’s Attorney Yates before I came. In the light of everything we now know, we’re applying for a reversal. To have your conviction overturned. Your record expunged. You’ll be free.”

  Ramon stood. “Guard. Take me back to my cell.”

  Paige stood as well. “Did you hear that? You’ll be free.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Elena is gone. My mother, gone. My life, gone. Even if I get out, I am not free.” He shuffled to the door, his ankles shackled as well. He turned sideways, waiting for the guard to open the door, and Grayson saw the tears on his face.

  It mattered too much.

  “Mr. Muñoz,” Grayson said, “I did my job for Crystal Jones, the victim of a violent murder. I prosecuted you to the best of my ability to get justice for her.”

  “And you want my forgiveness?” Ramon gritted out.

  “No. I want you to know that I’ll prosecute those who are in any way responsible for your wife’s death as… zealously as I prosecuted you. Elena will have justice.”

  Ramon nodded, just once. “Thank you. For my Elena. But for me, you can still burn in hell.”

  The guard opened the door and Ramon shuffled out, leaving Grayson and Paige staring after him. “That’s not how I pictured this meeting,” Paige said.

  “Did you think he’d be grateful?” Gr
ayson said. “He’s lost everything. You’re the one who said I can’t make this right and neither can you. We can only stand for the victims.”

  She met his eyes. “How did you get so wise?”

  “I listened to you. Come on, let’s go home.”

  Baltimore

  Friday, April 8, 7:45 p.m.

  “Home” turned out to be the Carter estate. Paige tried not to gawk as she and Grayson approached the front door, Peabody in tow, but it was nearly impossible, so she gave up trying. The house looked like something from a movie.

  They were greeted by Katherine, who instantly enveloped Paige in her arms. “We are so happy you’re here,” she said, squeezing until Paige had to gasp for air and Peabody uttered a very soft growl.

  “You’re choking her, Katherine,” Grayson said mildly, taking the leash from Paige’s hand. “And you’re upsetting Peabody.”

  With a breathless laugh, Katherine released her from her embrace. “So this is the famous Peabody. I have something for him, if it’s okay.” From her pocket she withdrew a dog biscuit as big as Grayson’s palm. “Brian baked it. A token of our appreciation.”

  “If Brian baked it, it has to be good,” Paige said. “I should probably wait until I get him home to give it to him. He’ll get crumbs all over your house.”

  “Crumbs can be cleaned,” Katherine said. “Peabody is a hero. Holly and Joseph told us about last night. What you did for my daughter… Now I’m choking myself up. Thank you, Paige, for saving Holly’s life.”

  “It was… You’re welcome.”

  “I’ve heard nothing but talk of you from my children. Come, sit with me while I finish dinner.” She firmly took Paige’s arm and led her away.

  Paige looked over her shoulder helplessly. Grayson just grinned and followed.

  Brian and Lisa were already in the kitchen and one whiff had Paige’s mouth watering. “I think we forgot lunch,” Paige said.

  “Sit,” Lisa said, pointing to a set of stools at the counter. “Brian made snacks.”

  Paige obeyed, snacking on something that she couldn’t pronounce and that should have been served on a silver platter by a tuxedoed waiter. “Where is Holly?”

  Lisa and her mother shared an anxious glance. “Holly didn’t sleep well last night,”

  “I suppose not,” Paige said. “I worried about her. That was an intense experience. And she saw Lippman killed. She won’t forget that anytime soon.”

  “We know,” Katherine said soberly. “We contacted a counselor early this morning. Holly sees him for the first time tomorrow. She wanted you to be there, Paige, if you don’t mind. She said you’d know how she felt.”

  Paige frowned. “I do and of course I’ll go, but how did Holly know what I’d seen?”

  “I don’t think she knows you saw your friend die,” Lisa said. “I think she just knows you understand. You make her feel better.”

  “Tell me where and when. I’ll be there.”

  Grayson leaned against the counter, his leg touching hers. “So where is Holly now? And my mother? And Jack?”

  Katherine sighed. “At about five this morning, Holly decided she needed a dog like Peabody. Jack and Judy took her to the pet store.”

  Paige made a face. “She won’t find a dog like Peabody at a pet store.”

  “We don’t think she means a protection dog,” Brian said. “We think she means a Rottweiler, in general. Jack and Judy called pet stores until they found one that didn’t have any.”

  “We thought you could help her find one instead,” Katherine said. “If you don’t mind. A protection dog, we mean. It would make me feel safer, too—especially with those boys at the social center. I want Holly to have independence. A life. But I’m still her mom.”

  “Peabody made all the difference for me when I was too afraid to be alone.” Paige scratched his ears. “If you want, I can call my friend in Minnesota, the one who trained Peabody. I’m sure Brie would be happy to match Holly with a dog.”

  “You set it up, I’ll buy the plane tickets,” Katherine said. “We could make it a weekend. Do girl stuff.” She lifted a brow. “Meet your family. Since you’re seeing our boy, you understand.”

  Grayson winced. “No family, Katherine.”

  “None?” Katherine bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

  “Not a problem,” Paige said easily. “My grandparents are dead, but I have a lot of friends who would be delighted to meet you all.”

  “Can I come?” Grayson said.

  “Sure,” Paige said. “Olivia can meet you and stop worrying about me.”

  Grayson opened his mouth to say more, but stopped when his phone rang. “Smith.” He listened, then said, “That’s quite a haul. I’m sorry I missed the search.” He grinned. “Right now? Thanks.” He hung up. “That was Hyatt. He said to turn on the news.”

  Brian pointed a remote at a counter on the other side of the kitchen and a TV slid up from beneath. A second later, they were watching Phin Radcliffe standing in front of the police department. A cruiser drove up and a man was not so gently helped from the backseat. The camera zoomed to reveal a red-faced Jim McCloud. In handcuffs.

  “Now that,” Paige said, “is an intensely satisfying sight.”

  “Better if he were wearing an orange jumpsuit,” Grayson murmured.

  “Soon,” she said. “You’ll make it happen.”

  On the screen, Radcliffe was walking alongside the senator as close as the detectives escorting him would allow. “Mr. McCloud,” Radcliffe called. “What are the charges against you?”

  McCloud ignored him.

  “We hear the charge against you is murder,” Radcliffe said, “and two counts of rape. Mrs. McCloud has already been charged with the attempted murder of Adele Shaffer, the murder of Betsy Malone, and for conspiracy to commit rape. Serious charges.”

  McCloud stopped abruptly and looked into the camera. “This is a total fabrication,” he said smoothly. “The product of Adele Shaffer’s tortured mind. We will prove these accusations false and help the poor young woman get the appropriate mental help.”

  McCloud was then hustled away, up the stairs and into the precinct, leaving Radcliffe to expound on the life and career of Senator Jim McCloud.

  “You can turn it off,” Grayson said. “They’re still searching the estate, but guess what they found hidden in the back of the senator’s desk drawer? Crystal’s purse.”

  “Yes,” Paige said, the satisfaction she felt increasing tenfold. “He’s going down.”

  “It held her cell phone—a disposable, which was why we didn’t find phone records in her name. It also held credit cards, lipstick, and one canister of pepper spray.”

  Paige nodded. “Told ya.”

  “Yes, you did,” Grayson said, then turned around when the front door opened and more voices filled the house. “Come on. I want you to meet Jack. You’ll love him.”

  Twenty-seven

  Saturday, April 9, 4:30 p.m.

  Don’t start without me. Please. Paige knocked softly on the door to interview room six. Grayson opened it and she was relieved to find they’d waited. Grayson had been at the precinct with Hyatt most of the day, going over the evidence recovered in the search of the McCloud residences. Paige felt a thrill of anticipation. They would fill in the gaps. Then McCloud would go away.

  “I got here as fast as I could.” She and Holly had just emerged from the counselor’s office when Grayson texted her to get down to the precinct ASAP. “Your mother and Katherine dropped me off, then took Holly home.”

  “How is she?”

  “Still scared. She will be for a while. But I think the counselor helped. She goes back on Wednesday. I’ll go with her.”

  “Excuse me for interrupting your conversation with something as mundane as a questioning,” Hyatt said sarcastically. He stood on the observation side of the two-way mirror, along with Stevie, who looked drawn, but alert. This closure should be good for her. Daphne and Lucy Trask stood next to Stevie, flanking her
on either side.

  Detectives Bashears and Perkins waited to one side, while Jeff Yates, the executive assistant state’s attorney, leaned against the far wall.

  On the other side of the mirror a man in a suit sat next to an irate former senator.

  It made Paige smile. “Sorry.”

  “He’s pickin’ at you, Paige,” Daphne said. “We all just got here. His Royal Pervertedness was just brought up from Holding. I say we let him stew a little longer.”

  “We have someone else you’ll want to see,” Bashears said.

  “Brittany Jones?” Paige asked.

  “None other,” Bashears said. “We followed her boyfriend, Mal, to a hotel up on Lake Erie. She was there along with her son.”

  “And a bag full of cash,” Perkins added. “She’d closed out her checking account, into which had been wired twenty-five grand right before your car blew.”

  “She’s in interview room two,” Grayson said. “Lawyered up already, unfortunately. We’ll question her after we’re done with the McClouds.”

  “And the DNA from the dress?” Paige asked.

  Slow smiles spread across the faces of everyone in the room.

  “It’s a match, then,” Paige said.

  “It is,” Hyatt said. “It’s showtime, people. Grayson?”

  “I have to go,” Grayson said. “Wish me luck.” He and Hyatt left the room, entering the interview room through a hall door.

  “Senator,” Hyatt said.

  “This is outrageous,” McCloud declared.

  “Senator,” the suit cautioned. “Say nothing.”

  “I don’t have to ‘say nothing.’ I’m innocent of all these charges.”

  “Then this should be quick,” Grayson said. “Tell me about MAC.”

  “It was a charity run by my wife. One of her pet projects.” The senator waved his good hand dismissively. “Low-income schools and poor kids got money. End of story.”

  Grayson nodded. “And they came to your estate for ice cream.”

  “Once a year. Took forever to get all the ice-cream stains out of the upholstery.”

  Hyatt shook his head. “Kids are messy.”