“What do they say?”
“They’re digging in, but it’s a long-tail investigation. Ryan told Max and Sean one thing, though, that they’re focused on—and that’s why I reached out to you. He talked about Al Capone, how hard it was to get him on murder and conspiracy, but easier to get him on tax evasion. We think the opposite is true with Monroe.”
“Why would he kill her? If she’s part of his conspiracy, why knock her off?”
“Max thinks it has something to do with Denise Albright’s body being found.”
Reed laughed. “Yeah, I’ll tell that to the judge. Great motive.”
“Hence, my dilemma. The Albright case is three years cold—but Victoria’s murder is fresh. It’s still open—even though you said you handed it to Vice.”
“Technically, I handed the Stanley Grant homicide to Vice. Gambling, eh?”
“That’s where Max leans. She talked to someone who was part of Monroe’s old network.”
“And Grant was a gambling addict.”
“That’s how Max started down that path, though everyone thought he was clean. And Grant told her he wasn’t gambling again.”
“I’ve dealt with addicts before. My ex-boyfriend was an alcoholic. I couldn’t take it anymore—the on and off the wagon. And he was a mean drunk, so I cut him loose. I had to for my sanity. When he was on the wagon, he was the nicest guy on the planet. But he couldn’t stop. My grandpa? He knew he couldn’t handle his booze, never drank. Gambling is like alcohol. Some people can overcome their addiction and stay clean, others can’t. Grant may have been clean for a while, but if he was around the lifestyle staying clean might have been impossible. Just one bet. One more bet. Just another … yeah, slippery slope.”
Jennifer got out of her truck. She looked at her phone, and said, “Randolph is in Three A, one of the luxury town houses. I sure can’t afford to live here.”
They looked at a map of the complex, located Melissa Randolph’s unit, and walked to the correct building.
They knocked. A moment later a woman came to the door.
Jennifer said, “Is Melissa Randolph available?”
“I’m sorry, she isn’t here.”
Jennifer showed her badge and identified herself. “When will she be back?”
“In a year or so.”
“A year?”
“She was transferred to Chicago. I’m leasing the place and taking care of her cats.”
“When did she leave?”
“In September—like around the fifteenth? Whatever the weekend around the fifteenth was.”
Jennifer glanced at Lucy. Lucy knew she was thinking about the timeline. Melissa had been interviewed about Clemson two days after Victoria’s murder, and only days later she’s gone. Clearly, she hadn’t said anything to Jennifer about it.
“Your name?”
“Diane Resnick.”
“Do you have some ID?”
“Is this necessary?”
“I expected Ms. Randolph to be here for follow-up questions as she’s a witness in a criminal case, but she’s not, so I need to make sure that you are who you say you are.”
“Oh. Yeah. One sec.” She closed the door and a minute later came back with her ID and a copy of her lease agreement. Lucy scanned it. It was simple and straightforward. Lucy took a picture of the signatory page just to confirm Randolph’s signature if they needed to.
“Where do you work?” Jennifer asked.
“I’m a receptionist for a law firm.”
“Which firm?”
“Um, Hollinger, Corben, Fuetes, and Parker.”
“And Ms. Randolph?”
“Um, the same?”
“Is that a question because you don’t know?”
“She works for Hollinger, too, as a paralegal. Mr. Hollinger and Mr. Corben are based in Chicago. Mr. Fuetes and Ms. Parker are in San Antonio.”
“Was this planned?” Jennifer asked. Lucy let her take charge because it was clear that Jennifer felt like she’d been played and if that was the case she would dig in.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“What I mean is, Ms. Randolph was a witness to a crime I am investigating. I talked to her, got her statement, and now need to clarify something in the statement. Yet she never told me she was leaving town.”
“I wouldn’t know. I just work in the same firm. It’s a big company. She sent out an email asking if someone could lease her place for a year and watch her cats, and I’d just broken up with my boyfriend and was living with a friend on the couch and this place is amazing. And she’s not even charging me what it would be worth because I’m taking care of the place and stuff.”
“Who’s her direct supervisor?”
“Well, Mr. Hollinger.”
“And before she left?”
“Ms. Parker.
“Faith Parker?” Lucy asked.
“Yes. Do I need to call her?”
“No,” Jennifer and Lucy said simultaneously.
Jennifer said, “Thank you for your time.”
Jennifer didn’t say a word until they got back to her truck. “Well, fuck this,” she said. She picked up her phone and called someone. “Mike?… It’s Jen Reed. I need a meet first thing in the morning, and I’m bringing a fed with me. I have a juicy case and we need to bring in all the big guns.”
“Who’s Mike?” Lucy asked when Jennifer hung up.
“Michael Flores. Assistant district attorney. We go way back, he’ll listen to me. So be prepared, because I need to sell this and it’s not going to be easy. But fuck if I’m going to have some prick and lawyer lie to me and make me a fool.”
“Jen?” Lucy said. “You are no fool.”
Chapter Thirty
Detective Garrett Douglas didn’t like the feds much, and he really didn’t like that hot bitch fed who cut him out of the loop. What did that say about their so-called community relations? Their wanting to work with all the other agencies? Just lies.
Garrett was a good cop—he knew he was a good cop—but he was a small-town deputy. He’d just been going through hell three years ago, it wasn’t his fault.
He’d asked Carl about the Albright case, and Carl told him what he’d told him three years ago. And Garrett had no reason not to believe him.
Except … there was something bugging him. And he couldn’t figure out what it was.
He went home Thursday evening, bringing all the Albright files with him. He’d looked at them on Monday, but he wanted to look at them again. To make sure that he or Carl hadn’t missed anything. Double-check.
Because there was one thing that he was pretty sure about. The fed was right, and the Albrights had never left the country. They’d been murdered that Friday. All but the boy.
Carl had said they must have left without him or the timeline was off and the Young family didn’t remember exactly when the kid left. Which was possible. But still, it would have been really close. Based on the timeline and the facts that they knew about when the girls left school, the family had about an hour from when they would have been home after school to when they’d have to leave to reach the border. And to leave a kid behind?