Sean looked at his watch. “I guess I have a little time.” He sat back on the stool. “I’m Sean.”
“Robert.”
Clemson motioned for the bartender to get Sean a beer, but he was still nursing his whiskey.
“Haven’t seen you here before.”
“I’ve been here a few times. Usually at the restaurant with my ex,” Sean said. “Love their veal parm. Since we split a couple months back, I now sit in the bar, especially after a shitty day at work.”
“What do you do?”
“Computer programmer.” He always stuck with a job that he could easily bluff.
“Smart guy.”
Sean shrugged. “It pays the bills. You?”
“I own Southern Supply. We provide tiles, bricks, trim, things like that, to builders. Primarily new homes, but we have a warehouse open to the public.”
“Over off Guadalupe, right? Way out there, in the county?”
“Yeah.”
“I put in an apartment over my garage last year, picked up all the tile there. Got a good deal because of a manufacturing flaw or something—but once I got it in, I couldn’t tell.” While Sean had put a studio apartment above his garage, he’d hired someone to do it and had no idea where they got their supplies.
“Remainders are great, really good deals for do-it-yourselfers.”
Sean sipped his second beer. Clemson stared at himself in the mirror and sighed.
“Was that hot blonde your ex? I wasn’t prying, I saw her reflection. A looker.”
“God, no. What a ball-breaker. She’s my lawyer, trying to get me out of a prickly financial situation. Have you ever made a mistake—just a little mistake—and it snowballed into an avalanche?”
“Once or twice,” Sean said.
“And no matter what I do, the damn avalanche doesn’t stop.” He drained his whiskey. “I’d better go. The last thing I need is for her husband to see me.”
Odd comment, Sean thought, for someone clearly not having an affair.
“Thanks for the beer. Drive safe,” Sean said.
“You too.”
Sean waited for him to leave, then texted Lucy:
He’s leaving. He met for less than three minutes with a woman, here’s the best pic I got. Said she’s his lawyer and he’s in a “prickly” financial situation. I’ll be out in a couple minutes.
Sean didn’t want the second beer. He put a generous tip under the glass and got up, heading toward the entrance. The bar and restaurant were separated by a small waiting area. A long hall led to the restrooms and kitchen.
At the same time, the blonde was walking toward him. But it wasn’t the blonde who caught Sean’s eye; it was the man walking behind her.
Sean went quickly down the hall toward the restrooms and slipped inside. His heart was beating, but he didn’t think Harrison Monroe saw him. And he might not recognize Sean, though Sean couldn’t count on that. If he were a guy like Monroe, he would have done the research and known who was who.
He just couldn’t take the chance.
From the bathroom, he texted Lucy:
Harrison Monroe is here with the lawyer. I think it’s his wife. Will confirm in a second.
Sean searched for Faith Parker Monroe and there was little on her. But he did find a photo in a magazine where she was quoted about a case she had pursued against a corporation. He didn’t have time to read about the case, but the woman in the photo was clearly a younger version of the woman he saw in the bar.
What was Robert Clemson doing with Faith Monroe as his lawyer? This was a hell of a big coincidence—and then not wanting to be seen by her husband? They didn’t act like lovers or ex-lovers. She had the attitude of someone who was in charge, and Clemson was worried. Concerned.
“A prickly financial situation.”
Sean waited three minutes, then left.
Chapter Twenty-nine
THURSDAY NIGHT
Jennifer drove Lucy back to her car. They had discussed the possible implications of what Sean observed, and Lucy asked her, “You talked to the woman Clemson had drinks with that night. What was she like?”
“Smart, attractive, too young for the guy, but who am I to judge.”
“Where does she work?”
“I didn’t ask. But I have her name and address. Shall we go by?”
It was after eight, but Lucy thought it might be important. “Is it far?”
“A condo on the River Walk.”
“I’m ready.” Lucy texted Sean to give him the heads-up.
“You sure? You look tired.”
“I was up early to serve a warrant in Kerrville. It’s been a long day. But I’m good.”
“I was ready to go home after my shift and binge watch Netflix, but this is more fun.”
Max definitely had the wrong impression of Detective Reed, Lucy thought. She was a good cop, she liked her job, and she was willing to go above and beyond. Reed likely put up every barrier for reporters, Max included.
“Did you suspect anyone else before Stanley Grant confessed?” Lucy asked her.
“No. We looked at both her partners, Grant and Corta. But they didn’t click for me, and while Grant’s alibi was weak, he seemed to be sincere in his grief. But I’ve seen people kill and regret it—their grief is real, even if they have a streak of self-preservation. I looked heavier at Corta because ex and all, but his alibi was solid. I talked to the people up in Bandera, and there’s no way he could have gotten back in time to kill her. But the manner— She knew her killer. No defensive wounds, up close and personal like that.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“She didn’t have enemies that we could find—no restraining orders, no lawsuits against her or the company. And she hadn’t even dated much after her divorce. One ex-boyfriend we talked to—he didn’t click at all, he’d moved on, they hadn’t even dated that long. I wondered if she and her ex were still doing it, if you know what I mean.”
“Did you ask him?”
“Sure. I’m blunt. I wanted to know. He said that they were still good friends and worked well together, but didn’t answer the question. Seemed almost embarrassed that I’d asked, which I thought was both hilarious and weird. But I got the impression he still loved her, so I was looking at him—maybe he wanted her back, she didn’t want to go back, he stabs her in a fit of jealousy, I don’t know. But it didn’t fit, and again, his alibi was solid.” Jennifer glanced at her as she pulled into a visitor parking spot outside a pricey condo off the River Walk. “What’s with this Harrison Monroe?”
She explained what they knew about Harrison and his circle of friends, plus the illegal gambling accusation from college and the likelihood that he had a new operation locally. “Now three of the six are dead, and proving money laundering of ill-gotten gains has been difficult. Our white collar team is looking deep into Albright’s records, and as soon as I get them a thread they’ll look into Monroe as well. But I need that connection.” She hesitated, then added, “I should also tell you that Max is dating a federal agent—a white collar crime expert out of New York. She’s talked to him about it, though I haven’t. If I talk to him, I can’t keep it off the record, so to speak. I’ll have to go through channels or risk stepping all over my own office. And right now I have a good relationship with our White Collar Crimes unit.”