“But they didn’t get out fast enough,” Max said.
“The revenge angle is worth looking at,” Sean said, “but our working theory—and no, we can’t prove it—is that Harrison Monroe created HFM to launder his illegal gambling profits.”
“Which you learned from this Tompkins guy who hasn’t seen Monroe in over twenty years,” Lucy said. “I’m sorry to play the devil’s advocate here, but no judge is going to give us a warrant based on an unproven—and uninvestigated—accusation more than two decades old.”
“That’s your world,” Max said, “not mine. I know there’s a story here. I can expose the illegal gambling, I can report anything I want as long as I can support my claims with evidence. We talked to Ryan shortly before you arrived, just to run a hypothetical situation by him. In a nutshell, land transactions generate a paper trail. But to unravel something like this would take months, if not years, of work, and there’s no probable cause for a warrant. Victoria being dead doesn’t seem to count.”
“Because Monroe isn’t a suspect in her murder,” Lucy said.
“We don’t know that, because Detective Reed doesn’t share.”
“With you,” Lucy reminded her.
Sean said, “Ryan had a good suggestion—to focus on the murders, not the gambling or land transactions. A reverse Al Capone, where technology and forensics will yield more evidence than a white collar investigation in the short run.”
“He’s right,” Lucy agreed, “and I’m more comfortable investigating violent crime over money laundering.”
“We need access to all the reports from Victoria’s murder,” Max said.
Lucy couldn’t help but smile. “We?”
“We’re a team,” Max said. “I share, you share.”
Lucy knew what she meant, but she didn’t like their arrangement. “I will talk to Detective Reed tomorrow after I interview the bank manager in Kerrville. I don’t think Denise embezzled the money. We have a handwriting expert comparing a known signature to the authorization forms that granted her exclusive signatory powers. The original investigation already proved that Kiefer’s signature was forged.”
“We have a lot of dots, but few connections,” Sean said. “What we need is one of those people to talk.” He gestured to the list.
“Three of them are dead,” Lucy pointed out. “I find it hard to believe that they were all party to murder. It takes a special coldness to kill someone you care about—like a sister or even an ex-wife. And even colder to kill an entire family.”
“We were talking about that earlier,” Max said. “What if they didn’t know or consent to Victoria’s murder? What if they bought into the Stanley Grant confession? When I saw Simon at the courthouse yesterday, he was truly grieving for his sister and clearly blamed Grant. Yet that doesn’t mean he didn’t know they were doing something illegal—or that he was a part of it. But what part? The gambling part or the land part or both?”
“You’re making a huge leap, Max. You haven’t established that Harrison Monroe even runs an illegal gambling organization.”
“I had wanted to go in undercover,” Sean said, “but because I was at the courthouse and Simon saw me with Grant’s sister, and the shooter saw me with both Marie and Stan outside, and then I confronted Monroe’s goon who followed us, I can’t go in. And you’re the face of the Denise Albright investigation, so you can’t go in, either.”
“In where?” Lucy rubbed her eyes. She really was tired.
Sean walked over and massaged her shoulders. She wanted to sigh in relief but held it back. “I talked to Tia this afternoon, off the record. She knows of a premiere underground casino. It’s in the county, very low-key, high stakes. Harrison’s name isn’t attached to it—but I suspect his goon squad is all over it. I would be perfect because I count cards and I’m a damn good poker player.”
“They know your face.” Now she was getting it.
“After we talked it out with Ryan, that’s when he suggested focusing on the murder case. But he was intrigued, I could tell.”
“And knowing most feds as I do, he’s going to stay out of it unless invited by our office.”
“Maybe you can sweet-talk Laura into asking for him.”
“She’s not in charge. Something like that will have to be decided higher up the ladder, and our White Collar Crimes unit is pretty good. I thought Ryan specialized in art crime?”
“He does,” Max said, “but he works a variety of cases. He assisted the Secret Service with a counterfeit money operation last month. He has a sharp eye for forgeries, and not just in art.”
Max sounded impressed with her boyfriend’s talents, which made Lucy smile. Max had mellowed since she met Ryan. Already Lucy liked him.
“Still,” Lucy said, “an operation like this could take weeks—months. And if I were Monroe, I would lay low right now. You already set Monroe off—he had you followed—why would he risk exposure now?”
“All we need is one of these people,” Sean said. “Just one to talk. Either we bring in someone undercover or we bluff—I think Mitch Corta is the weak link, Max thinks Simon.”
“Why?”
“Your husband seems to believe that Mitch is still in love with Victoria and can be more apt to change loyalties and turn state’s evidence because she was murdered. I think Simon, as her brother, will flip out of guilt when confronted with our belief that Monroe ordered a hit on her. We agree that they probably had nothing to do with her murder but may now suspect—after Grant’s assassination—that Monroe was behind it.”
Lucy opened a folder. It was the crime scene photos of Victoria’s murder. “You shouldn’t have this. Where did you get these?”
“Long story.” Max didn’t elaborate.
Lucy hoped Sean hadn’t broken the law. She looked through them.
Victoria had been stabbed and pushed into the pool at the house she had listed for sale while the owners were out of town. She would have bled out, but the pool quickened her death and the COD was drowning.
There had been no wine, no food, no sign that Victoria intended to meet anyone at the house. Why had she gone there at night? To check on something? To meet someone? Was she having an affair—except she was single.
Harrison Monroe isn’t single.
“Do you have the autopsy report?”
“Next folder.”
Lucy read the autopsy report. Victoria had been stabbed twice in the stomach, fully clothed, then pushed into the pool. Chlorine had destroyed any evidence on her person. The knife hadn’t been recovered.
Lucy held the autopsy photos under the hotel lamp. The coroner had measured the wounds and determined the angle. Whoever stabbed her had gone for center mass, slightly on Victoria’s left side, suggesting the killer was right-handed—like 90 percent of the population. He held the knife at waist level and stabbed Victoria, up close and personal. Once, twice. Knife wounds were always messy and Victoria may have been able to survive the attack if she’d had immediate medical attention—her heart had not been compromised. But the killer pushed her into the pool and she drowned, secondary cause blood loss.