“And believe me, I’m kicking myself for not going to Russo’s and verifying the information with the bartender. But there was no reason to at the time.”
“Because Stanley Grant confessed,” Lucy interjected.
“That changed the trajectory of our entire investigation. His alibi was weak—he was at home. We couldn’t prove that he was or wasn’t. We found the embezzled money, clear trail to Grant. And it made sense, because he’s not a financial genius, so he didn’t cover his tracks well. It was common knowledge among his friends and family of his gambling addiction when he was younger, it made sense—on the surface. And he knew specifics about the crime scene that we didn’t release.”
“Someone coached him,” Lucy said.
“So the guy goes in for murder?” Mike said. “Why?”
“Because his sister and her boys were threatened and he believed their lives were in danger,” Lucy said.
“I don’t know that I buy it, but I can see the possibility.”
“So can I,” Jennifer said.
“Did you honestly think I would hop on a plane with you to Chicago?” He was grinning.
“Well, we could make a date of it and have fun,” she teased.
“Watch it, or I’ll write you up for sexual harassment.”
But he was smiling, and so was Jennifer, and Lucy wondered if they had something going on after hours.
Jennifer said, “Lucy’s going to gaslight Clemson.”
“Excuse me?”
Lucy said, “As soon as I know that Jen has Randolph in an interview, I’m going to talk to Clemson. I’ll convince him that we know Randolph lied about the drinks and then suggest that there’s a witness who saw his car in the driveway. That I’m in the process of getting a warrant for his car to test for blood, convince him that no matter how much detailing he gets, blood stays.”
“Are you getting a warrant?”
“I’m going to try, but unless I have something like a witness or Randolph recanting, I don’t think I can get it.”
“You get me one thing,” Mike said, “like Randolph admitting that she didn’t have drinks with Clemson like she said she did or Clemson admitting that he lied, I’ll get you the warrant.”
Jennifer smiled. “Excellent. Clemson is already on edge, and he’s panicking—so Lucy might be able to get him to slip up.”
Lucy said, “I’ll suggest a deal—he talks, I get the AUSA to work out a plea arrangement.”
“This is my case,” Mike said. “Not federal.”
Lucy smiled.
“Oh,” Mike said. “I get it. You’ll work a deal for information about the alleged money laundering.”
“My case is the Albright family execution and now we know that at least one cop was involved—Detective Carl Chavez in Kerr County. He shot his partner last night and is on the run.”
“I read about that this morning on the wire.”
“Detective Douglas will likely make it, but he’s in a medically induced coma. He gave a statement to first responders that ID’d his partner as the shooter. So Albright is federal. Mills is local. And if we share information that connects, that helps both of us.”
“I can live with that,” Mike said.
“Clemson knows something about Harrison Monroe, maybe evidence of his illegal gambling operation, or maybe he knows that Harrison killed Victoria. It’s no coincidence that Faith Parker is his lawyer.”
“She’s not a criminal lawyer,” Mike said.
“No, but we need whatever information he has. He didn’t kill Victoria—but I’m certain he knows who did. I’m going to lay out for him what we believe happened based on forensics—show him some photos and lead him into believing we have more than we do. But it’ll only work if he can’t reach Randolph if he tries.”
“So is this a federal case or an SAPD case?” he asked.
“Like Lucy said, it’s mine,” Jennifer said, “but any information Lucy gets that she can use to solve her case she runs with. And we get an assist and all the goodwill of the FBI and AUSA showered upon us.”
Mike laughed.
“Seriously, Mike, it’s a win-win for all of us.”
If the plan works, Lucy thought.
Chapter Thirty-two
FRIDAY, LATE MORNING
Mitch never came home last night.
Sean didn’t sit on his house the entire time, but he set up a camera discreetly in his driveway. If he passed it, the camera would activate. Sean didn’t care about the data, but the camera would alert him that it had been activated.
He’d told Lucy, but she was pursuing another angle. She promised to talk to Detective Reed about Mitch, but that didn’t mean the detective could do anything about it. But now he’d been off the grid for twenty-four hours and his office hadn’t heard from him.
There were some things he could do that bordered on illegal, but at this point finding Mitch was the number one priority.
On his secure home computer, Sean ran a trace on Mitch’s credit cards.
Bingo.
Mitch had filled up with gas in Austin, near the bank that he had visited the other day. Had he gone back? What was at the bank? A security deposit box? An account? A person? Why was he there?
He had a hotel room in Austin last night, was he still there? Why?
Sean decided to take a risk. He sent Max a text message that he had a line on Mitch, then hopped in his car and left.
* * *
Max spent the morning doing more research on Simon Mills.
She’d thought he was a lawyer, but in fact he wasn’t. He’d gone to law school after college but never took—or passed—the bar. He worked as a paralegal for a year, then started buying and selling property with his sister, Victoria. He made a pretty penny doing it, and there was nothing overtly illegal about his business. He didn’t appear to buy low and sell high; he bought properties that had been on the market awhile and needed work, then did the work and sold them.
He hadn’t bought or sold anything for the last three years. He owned his own spread outside San Antonio, in the hills, and that was it. He never married and didn’t have a girlfriend. What did he do for a living? Had he made enough money to retire early?
Or, maybe, he was working for Harrison Monroe. Maybe he was running the illegal gambling operation on the side.
Max wished she could talk to Grover about his son, but she didn’t know if he would keep the conversation between them and she didn’t want Simon to know she was digging into his life. She couldn’t very well look up his tax returns and see how he was making his money.
Situations like this made Max wish she were in law enforcement. They had far more access to certain information. Sean had found all Simon’s previous activities in buying and selling property in public records, but he, too, had questioned how he was making his money. Still, Simon managed several properties and could easily be making a good living in that business.
His reaction yesterday to their evening conversation had bugged her all night. The more she reflected, the more certain she was that he knew that the Albrights were dead long before anyone else. Why? Was it a logical guess … or did he know they had been murdered?