Caroline told him to stop seeing Isabelle while the trial was ongoing. Nothing made a man look more unsympathetic than screwing a gorgeous woman fifteen years younger than his ex while simultaneously trying to empty her bank account. Caroline didn’t know how long he and Isabelle had been sleeping together. That was for the best. She might not have gone along with it if she’d known.
When the divorce was finalized, Nicholas Drummond breathed a sigh of relief. Not because he was finally a free man. Well, not only that. But he’d grown weary of seeing Constance dragged through the mud every day. He’d wanted to be rid of her, yes. But the marriage hadn’t been all bad.
When she pulled a J. D. Salinger and became a semirecluse, Nicholas felt it was for the best. Not for her necessarily, but for him. She could live however she wanted, and he could start his life fresh with Isabelle. If only he’d known about her fertility issues. She was in her twenties with the ovaries of a woman in her forties. Raisins, she’d called them. They’re shriveled like raisins.
Not that he would have changed his mind about marrying her. Well, probably wouldn’t have changed his mind.
And then life went on. But somewhere in the back of his mind, Nicholas knew there would be a reckoning. Somebody would find out. Maybe Constance. She called him right before her death. He ignored her calls but always had a feeling Christopher was listening to his voice mails before he could delete them.
He shared some of the blame for Constance’s death. No, he didn’t throw her from the bridge and hadn’t even seen Constance in months. But he helped destroy her career and kill her spirit. And if those hadn’t died, she would still be alive today. He knew it.
So when Detectives Serrano and Tally marched up to the front door, boots crunching on the snow-covered gravel, he didn’t plan to run or fight or resist. He would tell them everything.
Except who murdered his ex-wife. That one small detail he did not know.
“Nicholas!” Isabelle yelled. “Baby? What’s going on?”
Her eyes were wide, panicky. He was calm, which probably upset her even more. She could enter a room as graceful as a swan, then turn into a wolf in a moment’s notice. In the bedroom, it was the biggest turn-on ever. She could go from caressing his back with fingernails like feathers to digging furrows in his flesh in a heartbeat.
“I’m going to prison,” he said. Like he was going to the store for milk.
“Like hell you are,” Isabelle replied.
He took her hand in his, caressed her thumb. “You knew this day would come eventually,” he said.
“Like hell I did,” she said, angrily ripping her hand away from his. “I’m calling Chester Barnes. He’ll meet you at the police station. Don’t say a goddamn word until he gets there.”
Nicholas nodded, though he wasn’t sure he’d follow through. Barnes was the Robles family’s longtime lawyer. He’d stuck around even after Isabelle’s parents died because, well, they still had gobs of money, and he had a hefty retainer. If not for Barnes, Chris Robles might still be in prison. Of course if that were the case, ironically he might also still be alive.
The doorbell rang.
“Don’t answer it,” Isabelle pleaded. The anger had vanished, replaced by fear. “I can’t lose my brother and you.”
Nicholas took her face in his palms and kissed her passionately. Her fingers burrowed into the small of his back. They reminded him of the bolts of a prison cell door locking into place. It made him shiver.
“You’ll be fine,” he said. He tried to pull away, but her nails were dug in. Deep. Gently, he reached around and removed her hands. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”
Then he walked toward the door. Toward the inevitable.
“No I’m not,” he heard Isabelle say. Nicholas opened the front door. The detectives stood there placidly, wearing long overcoats and thick gloves. Chilly air blew in from the outside, but Drummond didn’t shiver.
“You know why we’re here,” Tally said.
“Nicholas K. Drummond,” Serrano said. “You are under arrest for criminal conspiracy to commit fraud, perjury, accomplice to data and cell phone fraud, and giving false statements to the police.”
Tally held up a piece of paper. “We have a warrant to search your property. Any and all items removed will be cataloged and returned to you upon completion of our investigation. Mrs. Drummond, if you’ll come with me, please.”
Serrano read Drummond his Miranda rights, and then they handcuffed him and led him to the car as half a dozen officers marched into their house. Halfway to the car, Nicholas realized he’d forgotten his jacket. Too late now.
As Tally held his head and slid him into the back seat of the Crown Victoria, one more realization dawned on Nicholas Drummond.
They hadn’t charged him with anything related to Constance’s murder.
Maybe they caught the guy, he thought as the door slammed shut.
CHAPTER 34
After Nicholas Drummond had been booked and processed, Serrano and Tally prepped for their briefing with Lieutenant George. It had been a good day.
Drummond was in custody. US Marshals had picked up Louis Magursky in Manhattan, where he would be arraigned. Andy Burke from the Marshals service told Serrano that Magursky had tried to run, bounding out of his office and into the lobby looking like Willem Dafoe running from the Vietcong in Platoon. They were more than happy to tack on resisting arrest to Magursky’s litany of charges.
Sam Wickersham was still hospitalized. He had been read his rights as an IV bag dripped antibiotics into his veins. The officer said Wickersham had cried and, still unable to speak due to his neck wound, written on a pad of paper, Is Caroline OK?
Italian authorities and Interpol had been alerted to a warrant out for the arrest of Caroline Drummond. Phone records from Magursky Construction showed dozens of calls to and from Ashby Mayor Alan Caldwell, all prior to Constance Wright’s resignation. When the Wright family had gone under, Magursky had been left millions in the hole. Emails showed Wright had rebuffed Magursky’s bid to restore the Albertson Bridge, a contract worth millions that would also firmly establish Magursky Construction in the Midwest. So Magursky killed two birds with one stone. He ruined Constance and got Deputy Mayor Alan Caldwell to approve the Albertson contract. Magursky made millions and got revenge on the Wright family in one fell swoop. Thankfully he had eager participants in the Drummond siblings and a lovesick puppy in Sam Wickersham—all willing to pick Constance apart with him.
It was a massive multistate conspiracy whose outcome ruined Constance Wright’s life. And it had worked, nearly to perfection. But as Serrano and Tally entered Lieutenant George’s office, Serrano couldn’t shake the one piece of the puzzle still unresolved.
Constance Wright’s murder itself.
They had enough on Drummond, Wickersham, and Magursky to relocate them all to cozy eight-by-ten concrete studios in Pickneyville. But they didn’t have enough to link any of them to her actual murder. Which was why, despite the day’s victories, Serrano felt apprehensive entering Daryl George’s office.
The lieutenant’s office was immaculate: shiny mahogany desk, papers and pens all arranged in their proper holders. The walls were covered with commendations and citations, the frames and glass sparkling clean. A photo of George’s pretty wife, Tabitha, and their daughter, Mia, faced outward, ensuring visitors would see that Lieutenant George was a dedicated family man. There were rumors in the department that Lieutenant George was thinking about making a run for city council. If he did decide to run, Daryl George would be a shoo-in. Hell, given that Mayor Caldwell would likely be forced to resign for awarding Louis Magursky the construction contracts Constance Wright had denied him, Lieutenant George could be in line for mayor.