Sean grinned. If anyone could fix this, it was Kate.
His cell phone rang, and he couldn’t imagine that Kate had answers in five minutes, but when he answered he realized it was Marie, Stanley Grant’s sister.
“Sean, I’m sorry to bother you, but Billy and John convinced me that I needed to call you with information.”
“Are you in Lake Charles?” She was planning to go there with her ex and stay with her family until this case blew over.
“Yes. We’re here.”
“Good. I don’t think you’re in danger anymore, but it’s best to be cautious.”
“Mitch called me late this morning to tell me how sorry he was that Stan was gone,” Marie said, her voice quiet, tired. “He was torn up—really torn up. I asked him if he knew what was going on—why Stan confessed when it was clear that Mitch didn’t believe that he killed Victoria. I begged him to tell me why he was killed.”
“What did he say?”
“He said Stan had been a pawn, a chess piece to move around because he was the only one who gave a shit. Which makes no sense. He promised me that Stan never killed anyone, but he didn’t know how to prove it. Why won’t he go to the police? Why won’t he tell the police what he knows? Stan deserves to be cleared of these charges, even if he’s dead. Right? Where’s the justice if my boys grow up with everyone thinking their uncle was a cold-blooded killer? I can’t— I don’t want them to suffer. To be bullied and ridiculed and—” She began to sob.
“Marie, I’m going to find Mitch. He’ll tell me.” Sean would make sure of that.
He hung up and was about to go back to Mitch’s house and crack his security system. He’d made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t break any serious laws now that he was married to Lucy, but in this instance he justified it because Mitch’s life might be in danger. At least, that’s what he told himself.
But he didn’t get a chance. Lucy called. “Can you meet me at Russo’s? I’m in the parking lot sitting in Detective Reed’s truck.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
When he arrived, he slipped into the backseat of Detective Reed’s dark-blue King Cab Ford.
“Lucy, Detective. Good to see you again.”
Reed caught his eye in the rearview mirror. “You’d better not have been lying to me the other day about the courthouse.”
“No, ma’am.”
“You didn’t tell me you were working with a damn reporter.”
“You didn’t ask. You asked me specifically what I was doing at the courthouse, and I honestly told you I was escorting Mr. Grant and his sister out because Mr. Grant felt that there was a threat to their lives, which was proven true.”
“Semantics.”
“Ask better questions.”
Lucy intervened. “We followed Robert Clemson here from his house. We interviewed him again tonight, just a follow-up, and he was acting suspicious.”
“He fucking lied to me, and I don’t like liars,” Reed interjected.
Lucy said, “Clemson is fifty, six feet tall, wearing a white button-down shirt, no tie, and khakis. Glasses. He’d recognize us, so we can’t go in. We’re pretty sure he’s meeting someone. He left his house not ten minutes after we talked to him. Don’t engage, just tell us who he talks to, and if you can discreetly get a picture that would be great.”
“Discretion is my middle name, sweetheart.”
Lucy couldn’t help but laugh. Sean leaned over, kissed her, and climbed out of the truck.
Reed said, “How’d you two meet?”
“My brothers work with Sean.”
“Security.”
“Yeah. Runs in the family, I guess. I have a sister who’s a detective in San Diego, one of my brothers is a former cop married to an ADA, and my oldest brother is a forensic psychiatrist.”
“And you’re the lone federal agent.”
“Two of my sisters-in-law are agents, both SSAs, one at Quantico and one in Sacramento.”
“You’re all spread out. I have a brother and sister, local. Four nieces and nephews—two each. My parents live five miles from my house. I’m never leaving, and I threatened my siblings that if they leave I’m arresting them.”
“We’re close, but our careers have taken us in different directions.”
Lucy was feeling homesick again. She didn’t know why—she loved San Antonio. And it wasn’t that she wanted to move back to San Diego or to DC … she just wanted to see her family more than she did.
Like for Thanksgiving.
* * *
Sean immediately spotted Clemson alone in a booth in Russo’s bar. A small but classy restaurant was attached to the dark and intimate bar, which catered to couples or private business meetings. Sean sat at the bar where he could watch Clemson in the mirror.
“What’s your poison?” the bartender asked.
Sean glanced over to what they had on draft. He noted a decent selection of local microbrews represented and asked for Ranger Creek on tap.
He put ten bucks on the bar and kept Clemson in sight. He was drinking whiskey and had already drained his first glass.
A fortyish woman came in from the restaurant side of the bar. She was dressed impeccably in a classy cocktail dress, white with black trim, her dark-blond hair molded up around her head in one of those sleek, twisty styles that Sean marveled at.
She walked right over to Clemson and sat down. She looked irritated. She said something. Sean couldn’t hear any of their conversation, and he wished Lucy were here, because she was much better at reading lips.
He took out his phone, pretended to text, and took a couple pictures, shooting into the mirror. He didn’t use his flash and the images were on the dark side, but he could enhance them to get a good view of the woman.
The woman did most of the talking. She didn’t smile, didn’t look like she wanted to be there at all. Less than a minute later she rose, said one thing to Clemson with her back turned to Sean, and returned to the restaurant half of the establishment without a look at anyone else in the bar.
Clemson looked more worried now than he did when Sean came in.
Sean said to the bartender, “Send that poor guy over there another drink, on me.” He put a twenty down on the bar. “Looks like his girlfriend just dumped him.”
The bartender gave Sean a half grin, then brought the drink over to Clemson. A minute later, Clemson came over and sat next to Sean. “Thanks.”
“You look like your dog died or your girl left. I know how both feel. Though I miss my dog more.”
“Dogs don’t give you bullshit.”
“Damn straight.” Sean tapped his mug against the whiskey glass. He wondered how many Clemson had before he got here.
Sean could get people to talk in a variety of ways, but with a guy like Clemson, who might be involved in something illegal and definitely was acting suspicious, the best way was just to let him talk on his own and gently push him along when there was an opportunity.
It took about two minutes. Sean drained his beer, said, “Thanks, buddy,” to the bartender, and got up to leave.
“Have another with me,” Clemson said.