Yet this morning Stanley Grant changed his plea from guilty to not guilty. His attorney quit and he’d been assigned a public defender.
Chances were that the plea change was a game to him, that he was facing life in prison and wanted to take his chances with the jury. If the confession could be thrown out, maybe there was a chance. But there was no guarantee, and if the jury heard that he confessed, he’d better have a believable reason for changing his statement.
According to the official police statement, Grant had turned himself in because he believed that they would find evidence of his embezzlement—the theft he’d claimed was the reason he’d killed Victoria.
A spokesman for the San Antonio Police Department, John Rivera, indicated that Mr. Grant had stolen more than two million dollars in funds from the business he co-owned with Ms. Mills and Mr. Corta. “We have a full confession,” Officer Rivera said. “Mr. Grant stole $2.1 million from the company and when Ms. Mills confronted him, he killed her. He said his guilt prompted his confession, in addition to the fact that the SAPD had a warrant for all financial records of the holding company.”
It made sense … until Sean uncovered the fact that the funds hadn’t disappeared until five days after Victoria was killed. Max wanted to ask Grant bluntly why he lied, why he confessed, and why he recanted his statement.
Grover and his wife, Judith, had both turned seventy this year. They were good people, self-made, wealthy, and generous philanthropists. They asked Max to find the truth; how could she turn her back on them? More, she could hear her grandfather in the back of her head saying, “Reveres help family, for better or worse.” The Millses may not be blood, but her grandfather had treated them as such, and that was good enough for Max.
Maybe, she realized as she finished labeling the crime timeline that she’d attached to the wall of the suite’s office, she’d been thinking far more about family since Eve entered her life.
Sean had learned a lot over the last two months. It was true that Grant had a previous gambling problem, but he hadn’t stolen from the company before—at least that Sean could find. His confession stated that he had taken the money to cover a lost bet, but Sean hadn’t been able to find out to whom or when. If the police knew, they hadn’t shared the information publicly. The fact that the money had been taken after Victoria’s murder was a huge red flag to Max—and should have been to the police. Maybe there was a logical explanation. Maybe it would make sense when she had all the information the police had.
Yet.
Something was off.
Max glanced at her watch. She had five minutes before her meeting with Oliver Jones, Grant’s new attorney. He’d grumbled about the late hour, but Max was confident he would let her talk to his client. He just wanted her to work for it.
That was half the fun of her job.
* * *
Max sipped her wine from a table in the hotel bar with a view of the luxurious garden courtyard lit with thousands of tiny white lights, watching as Stanley Grant’s new attorney stopped at the entrance and looked for her. He appeared as young as he was, his neatly trimmed beard doing nothing to add age. Moderate height and weight, dark-blond hair, dressed in slacks and a button-down, but he’d lost the tie probably as soon as he left work.
She waited until he looked at her, then she raised her hand. He straightened his spine, then strode toward her.
“Ms. Revere?” He extended his hand. “I’m Oliver Jones.”
She motioned for him to take a seat. “You can call me Max.”
He cleared his throat as he sat across from her.
“Would you like a drink?” she asked.
“Uh, no, thank you.”
When the server approached, she waved him off, then took a sip from her half-empty glass. “Did you discuss my request for a meeting with Mr. Grant?”
“I told my client that it would be a bad idea to give an interview to the press. It isn’t in his best interests.”
“Yet he wants to meet with me.” She made the assumption, otherwise Jones wouldn’t have shown up.
“Which is why I’m here. He will talk to you, on one condition. He’s worried about his sister. He asked her to leave town yesterday, but she doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t think there is a threat to her.”
Threat? What threat?
“You don’t sound like there’s a threat.”
“My client is worried about his sister. He believes you can convince her to leave town.”
“Why?” she asked calmly, sipping her wine, her heart beating rapidly. This was it. There was something here—a reason. A reason for the plea, a reason for the recant, a reason to talk to her. On record, she hoped, but she’d take what she could get.
“I don’t know,” Jones said.
She stared at him. He didn’t seem disingenuous, but she’d met many lawyers who smoothly lied. Most of the time she knew—her instincts were as good as or better than most cops’ when it came to lying—but sometimes lawyers were experts at deception.
Oliver Jones, young, idealistic, public defender. She didn’t think he had it in him to lie so convincingly—yet. Give him a few years.
She stared him in the eye. “You have absolutely no idea.”
“I can’t discuss my client’s case with you, Ms. Revere, you know that. For what it’s worth, since I first met with Mr. Grant this morning, he’s been extremely worried about his sister. When I relayed the information that you were here and wanted to meet with him—against my recommendation—this was his condition. He’ll talk to you if you can guarantee the safety of his sister.”
Max weighed the pros and cons to agreeing to such a demand. Was Grant’s sister in danger? Why? Or why did Grant think she was in danger? Rogan had done a background on each principle of MCG Land and Holdings, which included minimal information about Marie Richards, the divorced sister of Stanley Grant, and her two young boys. Public school teacher, no criminal record, no problems with the ex, not living above her means.
But she was Grant’s only living family, and all indications were that he was close to her and his nephews.
“I need her contact information.”
“He wants to know how you’re going to protect her.”
She usually traveled with her associate David Kane, a former Army Ranger who acted as her bodyguard when needed, as well as her research partner. She would normally task him with any protection detail; unfortunately for her, he was taking a vacation in California to spend time with his daughter. After he’d been shot and nearly killed in the spring, his ex-girlfriend had loosened the reins on the custody agreement and David was spending more and more time out west. She had a feeling he’d be resigning soon. On the one hand, she would miss his counsel greatly. She cared deeply for David, he was her closest friend, and she respected him more than anyone. On the other, she wanted him to be close to his daughter, the most important person in his life.
She would tap into Sean Rogan. She didn’t know if he still worked as a bodyguard now that his son was living with him, but if not him, she would trust his recommendation.
“I have someone I can call, but I need to assess the situation. I don’t like games, Mr. Jones, and I really do not like being manipulated. I’ll talk to Ms. Richards and determine whether she feels protection is warranted, and why. We’ll go from there.”