He found her in a lavender and pink bedroom, lying curled up on her side on a canopy bed with her back to the door, sound asleep.
He walked all the way to her bedside, looked carefully to make sure she was his target, then picked up a loose pillow near her feet, laid it lightly over her head, shoved the barrel into the pillow, and pulled the trigger.
She jerked.
It was the only reaction to her exit out of this world.
He lifted the pillow to make sure she was done, laid it back on her head, and walked out.
***
Unaware of the spreading carnage from turning in his wife, Mark was at home, depressed, despondent, and sending out résumés. He’d already accepted his fault in all this. He was a shallow excuse for a man, and his comeuppance was both shameful and painful.
Megan Lanier’s pursuit had stoked his ego beyond anything he’d ever experienced. She was the wild hair he should have gotten out of his system during his college years, but had not.
He felt like such a patsy. He’d done the books for the company. But looking back, they were the set of books the IRS saw. He was so drawn into the lifestyle of wealth and privilege that he never thought about how Walt Lanier managed this exorbitant lifestyle. But after what Mark had found out about Megan, it was all making sense now.
He wondered if they’d laughed about him. The socially inept accountant who’d walked away from the woman he loved because she was a simple schoolteacher. Because of being the asshole he was, he had weighed being married to a woman who’d been a throwaway kid and didn’t even know her bloodline against the cachet of a socialite who happened to be his boss’s daughter. He’d chosen the rich one, thinking that would elevate him socially and financially, until karma came knocking.
A part of him wished he was a kid again, still living on the family farm in Kansas. He’d hated that life, but it sounded like paradise now.
He fell asleep on the living room sofa, woke up some time in the middle of the night and took himself off to bed, then woke up again the next morning as the garbage truck was going by and cursed.
He’d forgotten to put out the trash.
***
Keith Voight was beginning to worry. He’d been trying to call Megan Roman all morning, but she’d never picked up. She’d been in such a panic for help last night, and now she wasn’t answering her phone.
It didn’t make sense.
Finally, he called the police and requested a welfare check on her at the Lanier property. He told them about her recent arrest on drug charges, that she had just bonded out, and that the last conversation he’d had with her she’d seemed afraid for her safety.
Two officers, Officer Taylor and Officer Sutter, were sent out to the property. Sutter rang the front doorbell, but no one came to the door.
“A place this size is gonna have staff,” Sutter said. “Taylor, go around back and see if anyone answers at the service entrance.”
Taylor nodded and quickly circled the house.
A couple of minutes later, he opened the front door and started talking.
“The back door was unlocked. Her car is in the garage, but no one seems to be on the property.”
At that point, Sutter walked inside, and together they began going through the house, calling out “Albuquerque PD” over and over.
But no one answered.
They cleared the downstairs before heading up and almost immediately found the body.
“Is that her?” Taylor asked.
Sutter pulled up the mug shots from Megan Roman’s arrest.
“Yep, that’s her. Call Homicide. Tell them we need detectives and the crime lab out here ASAP, then get the scene secured. This looks like a hit. I’ll stay with the body.”
And that’s how Keith Voight found out his client was dead and her father was gone.
With Walt Lanier missing, the police only had one family member to notify, and that was Mark Roman. Even though divorce papers had been filed, Mark was still Megan’s legal next of kin.
Chapter Nine
Mark was nuking a chicken pot pie when his cell phone rang. He picked it up from the kitchen counter, saw caller ID, and frowned.
“Hello, this is Mark.”
“Mr. Roman, this is Detective Clyburn, Homicide. I am sorry to inform you that your wife was found deceased in her family home this morning. There was no one else on the property.”
“Oh my God! What happened?” Mark asked.
“She was in bed. She’d been shot once in the back of the head.”
Mark was crying and didn’t know it. “It’s all because of the drugs and money, isn’t it? Someone was afraid she’d talk. Wait! Where’s Walt? Where’s her father? Was he killed, too?”
“We don’t know where he is. He isn’t answering his phone. There was no staff on the premises. We are trying to locate and interview people who worked there, but for now that’s all we know. We understand you two were in the middle of a divorce, but technically, you’re still married, which makes you the next of kin. Her body has been taken to the morgue for autopsy. You’ll be notified when it’s being released for burial.”
Mark wiped away tears, and cleared his throat.
“I have to ask. Was Walt in the business with Megan?”
“We’re still gathering evidence,” Clyburn said.
“He was, wasn’t he? Oh my God. This is a nightmare that won’t end,” Mark mumbled.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Clyburn said. “We’ll be in touch.”
Long after Clyburn had disconnected, Mark was still holding his phone and staring off into space. It was the ding from the microwave, signaling his pot pie was done, that brought him back to focus.
He put the pie on a plate and set it aside. Eating was the last thing on his mind. So Walt was in the wind, which meant the company would be floundering without the boss. Why did he feel like he’d just escaped a bullet by getting fired—with pay—before everything fell in?
And there was still that phone call to make to his lawyer because he wasn’t getting a divorce from Megan after all. Just paying for the funeral to bury her.
***
Megan Roman’s murder made the local and national news. Having a well-known Albuquerque socialite arrested for drug trafficking was scandalous. Finding out she was murdered the same day she was released on bail was a shocking but obvious message. She’d known too much to stay alive.
***
Walt Lanier was at a hotel bar in Mexico, nursing a drink and waiting for his food to arrive, when the story came on the TV. He understood Spanish well enough to know that his daughter was dead. She’d been murdered in her bed.