Chapter Fourteen
San Diego PD, San Diego, California
Wednesday, January 11, 5:10 p.m.
Joe Rooney sat at the interview table with his head in his hands. “I didn’t know,” he said sadly. “I didn’t know that Earl was in such financial trouble. I would have helped him. We’d been partners for years, friends for even longer. But he never said a word.”
Kit believed him. Joe’s best friend, Earl O’Hanlon, had committed suicide because he’d lost everything. Clearly Joe Rooney was still grieving.
“I understand you two ran a grocery store chain together,” Kit said. Connor and Sam were on the other side of the glass, observing. She thought Navarro might be back there, too. They’d agreed that Kit would talk to the man alone. Too many people might put him on the defensive and, as far as they knew, Joe Rooney wasn’t involved in Munro’s blackmail scheme.
Joe nodded. “Earl started it with one little corner store. I was his first franchise. We knew each other from college. Had been friends for years already when we joined forces. I retired first, mainly because my wife was diagnosed with MS.She needs more help these days. I didn’t want to leave Earl in the lurch, but he urged me to retire. Said I needed to take care of my wife. So I did.”
“And then?” Kit asked, because it felt like something was coming.
“Earl managed the company as a whole. I’d focused on sales because that was what I enjoyed. When I left, he brought in someone to take my place. Young fella, just graduated with his MBA. Son of another friend. I think that might have been when things started going sideways. I wish I’d paid more attention.”
“It’s possible that Earl didn’t want you to know,” Kit suggested. “If he hid it from you, there’s no way you could have known.”
Joe sighed. “That’s likely. He was always a proud man.”
“What about the new guy? What is his name and what did he do?”
“Louis Durant. He resigned about a year ago. He was hired to take over sales, but somehow he was also managing the financial end. Earl said that Louis was a real go-getter. Earl was letting Louis have more responsibility so that Earl could semi-retire. He said that Louis was making him money hand over fist. We played golf a lot more often at the club, because Earl had so much free time. I thought he was happy, and maybe then he was.”
“That changed?”
Joe shrugged uncertainly. “He did get tense, but Earl was a worrier. At the time my wife was having significant MSflare-ups, and I was concentrating on her.”
He sounded apologetic, so Kit gave him an encouraging smile. “As you should have been. Do you think that Louis Durant resigned on his own, or did Earl force him to or be fired?”
“I don’t know. I can give you the name of the HR manager. She might be able to help you. All I know is that all of a sudden, Earl was canceling our golf games. We went from playing two or three times a week to once a month and then never. I tried to call him, tried to find out what was wrong, but he told me that he was missing the office and that his semi-retirement had been a mistake. He didn’t sound upset.” Joe closed his eyes. “He didn’t sound suicidal.”
“Did he change his spending habits over the last year?” Kit asked.
“He must have. Darlene—that’s his wife—thought he was cheating on her, that he was spending their money on another woman. I knew Earl would never do that. He loved his wife. But he wasn’t the flowers and poetry type. He worked hard to provide for her, and I guess he figured that was enough. It wasn’t for Darlene. She wanted his time. I should have said something, but I didn’t want to get between him and Darlene.”
“Did he sell a car or a house?”
“No, but he sold some stock. A lot of stock. That was after he’d semi-retired. Before he went back full time. At the time I thought it was part of his retirement planning. I figured he’d put it into his 401(k) or something. I guess you’re insinuating that he didn’t?”
Kit kept her voice gentle, like Earl was a victim and not a guilty party. She didn’t think Joe would be happy if she insinuated Earl had done something nefarious with the proceeds from that stock sale. “We think he might have been being blackmailed.”
Joe reared back, shock on his face. “ Earl? For what ?”
“We don’t know. We were hoping you could help us find out.”
Joe studied her for a long moment. “Munro,” he finally said flatly.
“What about him?” Kit asked, keeping her tone conversational.
“Well, he’s dead. You’re homicide detectives, investigating his murder. It doesn’t take a PhD to put it all together.”
Kit couldn’t refute that. “Did Earl spend time with Brooks Munro?”
“No. He couldn’t stand the man.” Joe frowned. “He did play golf with him once. I heard about it from one of the other club members who asked if Earl and I had ‘broken up.’ I had no idea what he was talking about until he told me that he’d seen Earl and Munro out on the links the Sunday before.”
“About how close in time were the golf game and Earl’s sudden sale of stock?”
Joe seemed to wilt where he sat. “Not long. A week? Maybe two. I didn’t put it together. What could Munro have blackmailed Earl over? Earl was a straight shooter. He didn’t cheat, not in business, not on Darlene. He paid his taxes and he was good to his employees. I don’t know what Munro could possibly have had on him.”
“Where did the sudden resignation of Louis Durant fall with respect to the stock sale and the golf game?”
Joe’s face scrunched and he dropped his chin. “Not long after. A month or two. I can’t believe I missed it.”
“Your wife was sick, sir. She is your priority.”
“I was a shitty best friend, though. Maybe he’d be alive today if I’d done something.”
Kit wasn’t touching his last statement. Life was full of maybes and she couldn’t tell the man that he was wrong. “Could Louis Durant have done something illegal? Something that Earl would have been accountable for?”
“It’s possible. I worried a little when Louis hit the ground running so fast. Not about illegalities. It was more my ego. I’d had that role for years and I’d never had those kind of results.”
“Maybe because you’re honest?”
Joe sighed heavily. “Maybe. How can we find out if Earl was being blackmailed?”
“Well, we aren’t going to do anything. You are going home to your wife, who needs you. My partner and I are going to track down Mr.Durant. You can help us by giving us all the contacts we’ll need. HR, Accounting, all the departments.”
Joe pulled a pen from his pocket, his expression grim. “Hand me a piece of paper. I’ll give you anything you need.”
San Diego PD, San Diego, California
Wednesday, January 11, 6:00 p.m.
Well, Sam thought, at least he didn’t have to look at Laura Letterman through the glass tonight. Simon Daly, also known as Mr.Maserati because he’d sold his sports car, had a male attorney who was currently trying to discourage Kit from the interview.
The other person of interest, Hugh Smith, a.k.a. Mr.Ex La Jolla after he’d sold his mansion in La Jolla and downsized to a condo in the city, hadn’t yet been located.
Sam hoped Daly would give them something good or at least confirm that the club members were being blackmailed. Then they could be a little more certain that they knew the secret that Drummond had been hoping to trade for his freedom. Sam sure as hell didn’t want Christopher Drummond to profit from his crimes against little Rita. Sam’s heart still hurt at her fear. But she trusted them. She trusted Kit to do the right thing, so Sam sent up a prayer that Kit would be able to crack Simon Daly.
“You’re wasting your time, Detective,” the attorney said. “My client isn’t going to tell you anything.”
Daly’s gaze was fixed on the table. His eyes weren’t visible, but the man’s body language screamed “guilty.”
“That’s okay,” Kit said sweetly. “My partner and I have some information your client might find useful, though.”
“He’s toast,” Navarro said with a chuckle.
“He is,” Sam agreed.
Kit and Connor had teamed up this time, and Sam was looking forward to seeing what they could pry out of Mr.Daly.
“So,” Kit said, her elbows on the table. “You sold your Maserati recently, Mr.Daly.”
“Not a crime,” his attorney said.
“Of course not,” Kit agreed pleasantly. “But we’re thinking you did do a crime, Mr.Daly, and you sold the Maserati to pay your blackmailer.”
Daly jolted, the movement seeming to be involuntary.
“Oh yeah,” Navarro murmured. “He did something, all right.”
Sam agreed. “His shoulders just hiked up to his ears and, from the way his biceps just flexed, I’d bet he’s clenching his fists under the table.”
“My client doesn’t know what you’re talking about,” the attorney said, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Except his left eye was now twitching. An unfortunate tell for an attorney.
Laura never would have allowed her face to twitch like that.
“Oh, I think you do, Mr.Daly.” Kit still sounded so sweet. “And, just so you know, we’ve got a warrant in front of a judge so we can search your home and your bank records. I’m betting we’ll find a bunch of cash, all fifties, nonsequential. Maybe in your safe or hidden in a shoebox, just waiting for your day to pay. Which day was yours, Mr.Daly? The first of the month? The fourth? The woman who paid on the second of every month has already shown us her bank records.”
“Did she?” Sam asked Navarro.
“No, but she offered. Her secret was discovered by her ex-husband, so she had nothing to gain by continuing to pay Munro.”
“Munro just let her go?”
“From what she said, yes. But he may have tried to kill her in a traffic accident, so we’re not sure.”
On the other side of the glass, Mr.Daly had grown more tense but remained silent.
Kit was smiling at Daly sunnily. “No worries, we’ll figure it out. We’re combing through surveillance footage at the most recent drop points. We’ll find you on the recordings, Mr.Daly. Unless you sent someone else.”
“He wouldn’t have,” Connor said to Kit, as if Daly weren’t there. “That would be one more person who knew he had something to hide.”
“True,” Kit said. “So, the dead man’s switch. Have you lost sleep this week, Mr.Daly, worrying about it?”
Daly looked up then, his glare glacial. But he said nothing.
“I bet you have,” Kit said. “I wouldn’t be getting a wink of sleep if I knew that Munro had a list with my name on it, just waiting to be shared with everybody in the event of his unfortunate demise.”
Daly looked back down at the table, but his throat worked as he tried to swallow.
“It was a very unfortunate demise, too,” Connor said. “His body was nearly unrecognizable. Luckily, he had that neck tattoo. His killer was angry.”
“Or his many killers,” Kit said, her smile slipping into something grim. “Did you help, Mr.Daly? Was one of those many stab wounds by your hand?”
Daly flinched again, which was very interesting.
“That’s enough,” Daly’s attorney snapped. He stood up. “We’re done.”
“We’re not,” Kit said, all pleasantry gone. “Sit down, please.” She waited until he’d done so. “Mr.Daly, that dead-man’s-switch list is still out there. Several people have searched for it, but to no avail. Somebody found it, though. Of that we’re pretty sure. Probably the person who cut off all of Munro’s fingers and toes to get him to talk.”
Daly swallowed again, his shoulders hunching forward.
“He’s gonna puke,” Navarro said blandly.
Sam hoped not. It looked like Daly was holding it together. But barely.
“Maybe not all his fingers and toes,” Connor said. “Sure, they were all cut off, but I’m betting Munro caved after the first few and told his tormentors what they wanted to know. The rest were likely cut off just for fun.”
Daly clamped his hand over his mouth.
“Trash can is behind you,” Kit said.
The information was given just in time, because Daly grabbed the can and retched into it.
Sam grimaced. “I hate when they puke.”
“Not my favorite thing, either,” Navarro agreed. “At least he hit the can. Sometimes they miss.”
“So gross,” Sam muttered, feeling green just watching.
“Are his reactions legit?” Navarro asked.
“The puke is real,” Sam said. “The rest, I’m not sure. He certainly knows about the list Munro kept. And I’d bet that it has been keeping him awake at night. He looks like he hasn’t slept well in some time.”
“That’s what happens when you do crimes that get you blackmailed,” Navarro said.
“He flinched when Kit asked if he was one of the people who stabbed Munro. If he wasn’t, he knows who was.”
Navarro sighed. “Damn. I hated that multiple-hands theory as much as Kit did, but it’s looking viable.”
“The thing is,” Kit was saying, “just because Munro is dead doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. I’d expect a call or text or singing telegram from the guy who now holds the list giving you a new payday and a new drop location.”
Daly closed his eyes, defeat in the movement.
“Yes,” Sam whispered. “He’s already been contacted.”
“I think you’re right, Doc,” Navarro said.
“Was it a call, text, or singing telegram, Mr.Daly?” Kit asked cheerfully.
His skin pale and clammy, Daly just glared.
Connor slid Walter Grossman’s mug shot across the table. “Know this guy?”
Daly’s eyes burned as he stared at the mug shot but no words left his mouth.
Daly had met Grossman somewhere along the way. Now the man knew who had given Munro his secrets.
Connor’s smile was feral. “If you’re thinking of getting revenge on the guy who told Munro your secret, you’re too late. He’s as dead as Munro. Throat slit ear to ear.” He produced one of the crime scene photos of Grossman’s dead body. “Whoever has that list isn’t afraid to spill blood. I’d recommend not missing any payments.”
Daly still said nothing, but there was satisfaction in his eyes when he saw Grossman’s body. He was glad the man was dead.
Kit turned to the attorney. “Tell your client that his cooperation could earn him a deal with the prosecutor. My partner and I are not personally interested in whatever Mr.Daly did to get on that blackmail list, unless it was a homicide, of course. We just want to catch a killer who’s put at least four bodies in the morgue since Saturday.”
“Is my client under arrest?” the attorney demanded.
“No,” Kit said.
“He’s free to go,” Connor added, and both attorney and client rose from their chairs. The attorney grasped Daly’s elbow when the man swayed on his feet. “But if he’s approached by a guy with a neckbeard, he should run as fast as he can as far as he can.”
Daly’s face went from pale to stark white and he sank back into his chair. “What?”
“Neckbeard,” Kit said with the sunny smile. “He’s killed several people. If he decides you’re too big a liability—especially since you’ve been called in to see us—he might come after you.” She wiggled her fingers in a wave, then mimicked a knife across her throat, ear to ear. “Ta-ta! Have a nice evening.”
Daly didn’t move and his attorney slowly sat beside him. “Simon?” the attorney asked quietly.
Daly shook his head. His mouth opened and closed but nothing came out.
The attorney looked at Kit and Connor. “I’d like to speak with my client privately, please.”
Kit smiled and came to her feet. “Okay! Just tap on the glass when you’re ready. We’ll turn down the volume.”
Sam was still shaking his head when the two detectives walked into the observation room. “Ta-ta?”
Kit chuckled. “It worked.”
“You scare me sometimes,” Sam said.
Kit’s smile grew brighter. “Thank you.”
“I’m not sure that was a compliment,” Navarro said.
“It was, actually,” Sam said.
Kit gave herself a shake. “Gosh. That cheerfulness really starts to chafe after a while.” She turned down the volume of the speaker in the observation room, then stood at the glass. Her gaze was glued to Simon Daly and his attorney. “What do you think, Sam?” she asked, her voice back to normal.
“I think he recognized Grossman and he was glad the man was dead. Do I think Daly had a hand in killing Munro? Probably not. But you definitely got his attention with the mention of Neckbeard Guy. He knows him. Or at least he’s seen him.”
Daly and his attorney had turned so that their faces weren’t visible to the observers on the other side of the glass, but Daly’s body language now screamed fear and desperation.
“I also think he’s going to give you something in just a few minutes,” Sam said. “Maybe not what you’re looking for. He’s not going to cop to what he did to get blackmailed by Munro. He’s not that desperate yet. But he’ll probably tell you where he saw Neckbeard. He might even tell you about which group wanted Munro dead. He flinched when you said ‘many killers.’?”
“I saw that.”
Sam wasn’t surprised. “Figured you had. I don’t know if he stabbed Munro, but I doubt it. If he did, he didn’t know about the fingers and toes.”
“I wonder what he did to get blackmailed,” Connor murmured.
“What is his profession?” Sam asked.
“He owns an import/export business. Lots of shipping.”
Sam grunted. “That’s an open door right there.”
They fell silent, watching Daly and his attorney have an animated conversation that they couldn’t hear. Daly’s fists were definitely clenched now. They were in full view, occasionally pounding on the table.
Finally, the attorney knocked on the glass.
“Showtime,” Kit said.
She and Connor filed back into the room.
“My client is ready to talk, but he wants protection,” the attorney said.
“From whom?” Connor asked.
The attorney gave him a cutting glare. “From this guy with a neckbeard, of course. That was your intent in mentioning him, wasn’t it? To scare my client into a confession?”
Of course it was, Sam thought, but Kit was ignoring the attorney, her attention focused on Daly. “You saw him, Mr.Daly?”
Daly nodded. “He came to my office. Brought me a package. It was an Amazon package, so it could have been left on the stoop and he just picked it up. Never occurred to me that he wasn’t the legit deliveryman. He stopped to chat. Asked how I was doing. Asked how my wife was. Said he’d heard she was under the weather.”
“Didn’t you find that suspicious?” Connor asked.
“No. Our normal deliveryman knows my wife. She works in the front office. Answers the phones and does the accounts. She wasn’t there that day because she had a cold.”
“Which day was this?” Kit asked.
“Monday.”
Kit glanced at Connor. “Neckbeard didn’t waste any time, did he?” She turned back to Daly. “How were you contacted about new payments?”
“Text on a burner phone. Same one as before.”
That was not unexpected, but still good information to have. “When were you contacted by burner phone?”
Daly swallowed. “Sunday morning.”
“What did Munro have on you?” Connor asked.
His attorney shook his head. “That’s not on the table.”
“How much were you paying him each month?” Kit asked.
Daly ground his teeth. “Thirty grand.”
Kit whistled softly. “Wow. The other victim only paid five. What you did must have been really bad. What do you know about a group effort to kill Munro?”
“We want a deal,” the attorney said.
Kit’s smile was feral. “We’ll call Joel Haley.”
San Diego PD, San Diego, California
Wednesday, January 11, 8:00 p.m.
“Thank you for dinner, Betsy,” Ashton said, handing her the plate he’d completely cleaned of a heaping stack of chicken and waffles. “This sure beats a burger and fries.”
“Of course it does,” Betsy said, clucking over them like the mother she was. “My Rita loves breakfast for dinner, and she had a bad day today so she got to pick what we ate. It wasn’t any trouble to make enough for you all. Sam? Another helping?”
Sam patted his flat stomach. “Oh no, ma’am. I couldn’t eat another bite. But thank you.”
“Kevin? Connor?”
“No, ma’am,” both men said.
“I’ll have another helping,” Navarro said, almost pouting.
Betsy laughed. “I was getting to you.” She dished out another helping onto Navarro’s waiting plate. “And don’t worry. There’s still enough for all of you to take some home for breakfast tomorrow.”
Kit gave her own cleaned plate to her mother with a kiss on Betsy’s cheek. “Thanks, Mom. You’re the best.”
Betsy leaned into Kit, her shoulders relaxing on a sigh. “You all are doing your best not to give that Drummond an opportunity to go free. I would cook for all of you for a million years.”
Kit snorted. “Don’t tell them that. They’ll take you up on it. We should probably take a plate to Joel. He’s been wheeling and dealing with that lawyer for two hours now. Not about Drummond, Mom,” Kit added when her mother frowned. “Someone else. I promise.”
Betsy smiled, relaxing once again. “Well then, I’ll be going. Have a productive evening.”
All the men stood, and Connor reached for the bags in which Betsy had brought the food. “Let me walk you to your car, Betsy. It’s dark outside.”
Kit knew that Connor would be able to get her to accept the envelope of cash the detectives had filled to defray the cost of the food. And if Betsy wouldn’t take it for the food, Connor planned to tell her it was a donation to McKittrick House, to help care for Rita, Emma, and Tiffany, since the state’s foster stipend was meager, at best. Either way, Betsy would be recompensed for her generosity.
When Connor and Betsy had departed through Homicide’s double doors, Navarro dug into his third helping. “I hope you never leave Homicide, Kit. We’ll miss your mother’s cooking. Has Joel contacted you yet?”
“Not yet, and I’ve been watching my phone.” She rolled her shoulders, trying to work a kink out of her back. She’d been thinking about the conversation she’d had the night before with Harlan. “If Munro’s murder was a group effort, how did the participants communicate with each other? We need to get Daly’s cell phone records.”
“He could have used a burner,” Marshall said.
“Maybe,” Kit agreed. “But he wasn’t clever enough to fly beneath Munro and Grossman’s radar. They must have had an inkling that Daly had done something they could blackmail him for. I’m hoping that means Daly wasn’t clever enough to use a burner.”
“Ever the optimist,” Navarro said, using his last bite of waffle to clean his plate before popping it into his mouth. “Don’t lose that, Kit.”
“Doing my best, sir. But back to the group effort. They had to have communicated with each other somehow—either cell texts, emails, or calls. And either on their own phones or burners. But I’m still surprised they’d get their hands dirty. Daly is a wealthy man. I’m assuming the others on that blackmail list are also wealthy.” She turned to Sam. “Do you think Daly would have killed Munro with his own hands?”
“Hard to say. My gut says no, though.”
“Mine too.” Kit bit her lip, thinking. “I keep thinking about the Ferrari. If a group stabbed Munro, did they share the car, too?”
“Maybe Neckbeard got the Ferrari,” Ashton said, “because he took the risks. He was the face—albeit bearded—of the group.”
“Maybe,” Kit murmured.
“But your gut says otherwise?” Sam asked.
She nodded. “But it doesn’t mean a thing without proof.” Her phone buzzed with an incoming text from Joel. “Which maybe we’ll get soon. I’ll text Connor to meet us in the observation room.”
They found Joel standing on the observation side of the glass, watching Daly and his attorney. He turned when they filed in, his eyes lighting up at the covered plate in Kit’s hands.
“For me?”
Kit gave him the dinner. “Compliments of my mother. So where are we?”
“Starving,” Joel muttered. He took the plate to one of the chairs and began to eat. After a few mouthfuls, he blew out a breath. “I missed lunch. Thank you. We’re going to put Daly and his wife into a safe house until we have Neckbeard in custody or until the threat is diminished.”
“That could be a long time,” Navarro said.
Kit frowned. “You said we were unstoppable.”
Navarro winced. “And you are. I’m just saying these things sometimes take time. Sometimes years. We don’t have the personnel to guard him for years, Joel.”
Joel sighed. “Then I hope Kit’s righter than you are. You can’t ask Daly about what he did. You can ask him about the blackmail plot and the plot to assassinate Munro.”
“It was a multiperson effort, then?” Connor asked warily.
“I don’t know. That’s all I got.”
“You were in there for two hours,” Kit said. “That’s all you got?”
Joel scowled at her. “I was trying to get you more. Daly zipped his lips and wouldn’t say another word, so I finally gave up and wrote the deal as is.”
“So wait,” Marshall said. “If we’re not allowed to ask Daly about his crime, doesn’t he know it’ll come to light anyway once we get to Neckbeard and that list?”
Joel sighed again. “It won’t matter. I’ve granted him transactional immunity.”
Kit sucked in a surprised breath because that was a super big deal. “What?”
“What the fuck?” Ashton asked at the same time.
The others made similar noises of stunned surprise.
Normally Joel only gave immunity for future prosecution resulting from whatever evidence the suspect provided. Transactional was more like blanket immunity. He couldn’t be tried for any crimes related to Munro’s murder or the blackmail.
“I know, I know.” Joel rubbed his temples. “I’ve worked with Daly’s attorney in the past. He’s good and he’s honest. He assured me that Daly’s information was worth it, and that the crime he was being blackmailed for would only get him five to ten, max. The blackmail was mostly so that Daly’s customers didn’t find out what he’d done because he’d lose his business. I’ve made sure to include that if Daly was responsible for any assault, murder, any physical harm to any human, that the deal is void.” He looked from Kit to Connor. “So make this good, Detectives.”
“Now the two hours this took makes more sense,” Sam said kindly. “Finish your food, Joel. And take two of these.” He pulled a bottle of pain reliever from his pocket. “You’ll feel better.”
And there went Sam again, making people feel better.
“Thanks, bro.” Joel took the pills, then returned his attention to Kit and Connor. “Do you have a list of questions for him?”
Kit handed him her phone. “These so far. Mostly how they communicated with each other, who did what, and where they did it. We still haven’t found the trailer. Or that damn Ferrari.”
Joel scanned the list. “These are all permissible questions. Good luck.”
San Diego PD, San Diego, California
Wednesday, January 11, 8:35 p.m.
Kit and Connor took seats across the table from Simon Daly and his attorney. Daly appeared pale but resolute as he stared Kit in the eye defiantly.
“We have a deal in place,” Kit said. “How long were you blackmailed by Munro?”
“Three years,” Daly said. “Started out as ten grand a month, went up to twenty in year two and thirty in year three.”
“Steep,” Connor noted. “How did you afford it?”
Daly gave Connor a duh look. “I’m richer than your parents by a factor of ten. I could afford it.”
Connor didn’t look offended. “Yet you sold your Maserati.”
Daly lifted a shoulder. “By the end, I was getting a little short.”
“Short in money, temper, or both?” Kit asked.
“Both,” Daly admitted. “But I did not kill him. I never laid a hand on him.”
Kit watched his face carefully, grateful that behind the glass, Sam was doing the same. Never hurt to have another pair of eyes. “But you know who did.”
“I know who talked about it,” Daly said. “I never thought they’d do it.”
“Who is they?” Connor asked.
Daly slid a sheet of paper across the table. “Names.”
Okay, then, Kit thought. Maybe the transactional immunity had been worth it.
She leaned over to read the nine names along with Connor. To her disappointment, Christopher Drummond was not on the list.
But several of the names she did recognize, either from news coverage on them or their companies or from Munro’s list of campaign donors. Six men and three women. All movers and shakers, as Ronald Tasker had claimed.
And, lo and behold, both Juanita Young and Estelle White were two of the three women. They’d been the women who, according to Connor’s mother, had slept with Monroe. They’d also been the women who’d either slammed their door in the detectives’ faces or denied everything when they’d been interviewed.
They’re going to have to talk to us now.
“Do you know any of them?” she asked Connor, knowing he’d recognized at least the two women’s names.
“I’ve personally met six of them. All are members of the country club.” Connor looked up at Daly. “How did this transpire? How did this group come together?”
Daly exhaled quietly. “It was after Earl killed himself. We were shaken, all of us. But we didn’t know about each other then. We suspected, of course, that Munro had several of us on his blackmail list, but we didn’t know who. It’s not something you shout out loud, like ‘Bingo.’?”
Kit thought of her father saying that they didn’t tack a postcard on a bulletin board but somehow had communicated. “Then how did you find out about each other?”
“It was Hugh Smith.” Daly pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. “He was paying attention at Earl’s funeral when the rest of us were not. Hugh heard Earl’s wife tell his wife that there was no money left, that Earl had drained their accounts. She was all but penniless and was going to have to move in with her sister. Maybe even get a job.”
Oh, the horror, Kit thought, then gave herself a mental smack. Earl O’Hanlon’s widow was nearly Betsy’s age. Starting over at that stage of life would be terrifying. Especially for a woman who’d never worked outside her home.
“So what did Hugh do?” she asked.
“He investigated because he had a hunch that Earl was also paying Munro. We never knew for sure, but it certainly looked like it. Hugh got his hands on Earl’s bank statements and saw that he was withdrawing forty thousand dollars every month. Out of everyone on the list, that was the highest amount. That anyone was willing to admit, anyway.”
“Do you know what any of the others did?” Connor asked.
Daly shook his head. “All we knew was that we were being blackmailed. It seemed Munro was hunting his victims at our club.”
Munro had been a member of three country clubs. Kit wondered how many victims he had at the other clubs, then filed the thought away for later. “Did Hugh Smith bring you all together?”
“Yes. He started checking out our finances. He’s the head of security for one of the military contractors at the naval base at Coronado. I guess he had the means to get our account statements and portfolios.”
“When did you first meet?” Kit asked. “And where?”
“The first meeting was one week after Earl’s funeral. We gathered in Hugh’s home office. He said it was bug-free and soundproofed, so no one would hear us.”
“Did you know why you were meeting?” Connor asked.
“No. We were all…stunned. At first, we were furious with Hugh. I’m still furious, if I’m being honest. But after he let us speak our piece, he said that together we could bring Munro down. Of course no one wanted to go to the police.”
“Of course not,” Kit said dryly. “So what did you decide to do?”
“To kill him,” Daly said with no inflection whatsoever.
“But you didn’t,” Connor said. “If you didn’t, who did?”
“I don’t know. I attended only two meetings. After we decided that we’d kill him in that first meeting, we met again because Hugh had contacted a hit man.”
Ah. This was closer to what Kit had expected. She didn’t think that a group of rich people would get their own hands dirty. “Who?”
“I don’t know. Hugh said he got a creepy feeling about the guy, so he didn’t press him for a contract.”
A creepy feeling about a hit man. Imagine that.
“Do you think Hugh talked to the hit man personally?” Connor asked. “Because that sounds riskier than I can see Hugh Smith being.”
One side of Daly’s mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. “I thought the same thing, that Hugh had an underling talk to the hit man, but I don’t know for sure. I left after that. I wanted no part in their scheme.”
“They just let you…leave?” Kit asked, making sure her disbelief fully registered.
“We aren’t hoodlums, Detectives,” Daly snapped. “What were they going to do? Kill me?”
“Someone killed Munro,” Kit said calmly, choosing not to snap back. “Someone in your circle seems to be fully capable of murder.”
“Which is why we’re here,” Daly’s attorney interjected. “My client fears for his life.”
“As well he should,” Kit said soberly. “Give me a moment, please.”
Not moving from her chair, she constructed a group text to Navarro, Sam, Kevin Marshall, Alf Ashton, and Connor.
Could Hugh Smith be Neckbeard?
Maybe came Marshall’s immediate answer. The man hadn’t been home when they’d knocked, but they had his driver’s license information. He’s 5-10, average build, average weight, just like Neckbeard.
But Neckbeard had spoken to Daly. Had asked about his wife. Surely Daly would have recognized Smith’s voice.
Kit showed her phone to Connor and Joel, then returned her attention to Daly. “So Mr.Smith might have asked an underling to find a hit man. That means at least one more person knows about the plot.”
“I know,” Daly said grimly. “Smith is a fool. We all wanted to make Munro suffer, but none of us are thugs.”
The jury was out on that. “How did you communicate your meeting places?”
“Hugh called us on our normal cell phones, but he used a burner. The fucker. Can’t trace anything back to him. He’s got us over a barrel, but his hands stay clean.”
If Hugh Smith was Neckbeard, he had them all over a barrel anyway, since he would have access to Munro’s list. But if he wasn’t…
That Marshall and Ashton hadn’t been able to find Hugh Smith took on a darker meaning. Whoever had killed Munro, be it an individual or a group, could possibly be tracked through Smith, assuming Neckbeard knew about him. Hugh Smith was an unfortunate loose end.
She sent another text to the group. Can we send someone to do a wellness check on Hugh Smith? Break down his door if you have to.
Already on it came Navarro’s reply. Uniforms should be arriving at his house any minute.
“Did Smith say how he found the hit man?” Connor asked.
Daly shook his head. “He didn’t say, we didn’t ask. I don’t know what he does in his day-to-day security job, but I assumed he had less-than-savory connections.”
Kit scanned the list of Daly’s names again. “How well do you know the others on the list?”
“Some better than others. I’d call two friends, three acquaintances, and the others are just people I nod to at the club or on the green.”
“Was Hugh Smith a friend?” Connor asked.
“Acquaintance. If that. Bert Ramsey and Henry Reese are friends. Or they were. After this, I don’t think any of them will be speaking to me again.”
“You might have saved their lives,” Connor said seriously.
“They won’t see it that way,” Daly muttered.
“Could any of the men on this list have been the person who spoke to you on Monday?” Kit asked.
Daly appeared to be honestly taken aback. “What? Like, in disguise?”
“Yes, sir,” Kit said, managing not to roll her eyes. “In disguise.”
“I…I don’t know. I don’t think so, but…” Daly frowned, his fear reappearing. “I just don’t know.”
Kit believed him. Mostly. “Did the others meet again?”
“I don’t know. I blocked Hugh’s burner on my cell phone and never got any further communication from him or any of the others.”
“When was your last payment to Munro?” Kit asked.
“My day was the twenty-fifth of the month. Last month I got the twenty-sixth because my day was Christmas.”
“Where did you drop the thirty grand last month?” Connor asked.
“In a locker at the gym.”
Again with the gym locker. Like Kit would even leave her phone in a locker, much less thirty thousand dollars. Rich people, for heaven’s sake.
“Did you ever wait to see who came to pick it up?” she asked.
“No.” The word was snapped and final.
Okay, then. “Was Christopher Drummond being blackmailed, too?”
Again, Daly appeared shocked. “Drummond? He has enough trouble without being blackmailed, too.”
Kit smiled at him. “Not an answer, sir.”
“I don’t know,” Daly said bluntly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was. I do know that Munro and Drummond used to be…well, not friends. I don’t think they had any actual friends. But Drummond canceled his membership from our club quite some time ago. Long before Earl committed suicide and Hugh Smith took it on himself to get revenge against Munro.”
“Did anyone talk about Munro’s Ferrari?” Connor asked. “Like how they might have wanted it or thought that Munro didn’t deserve it?”
“None of us thought he deserved it and none of us wanted it. It was a flashy car and that’s how he intended it.” Daly shrugged carelessly. “He was new money. Liked to flaunt it. In reality, he was a nobody who married way above his station.”
Above his station? How very Downton Abbey .
“He was a city council member,” Kit offered.
Another careless shrug. “Big fucking deal. Munro thought it was, though. No one I knew liked him. We tolerated him at best. Sometimes he could be useful if we wanted something special for our businesses from the city. But otherwise, we didn’t have anything to do with him. No one invited him to any parties. He was a useful pariah.”
“Did you want to kill him, sir?” Kit asked.
Daly just shook his head and said nothing.
“Were any of these other people on the list in favor of Hugh Smith’s hit man?” Connor asked.
“I don’t know. I only know that I wasn’t.”
“Did anyone speak up?” Connor pressed. “Or did they simply leave like you did?”
“A few people were in favor of a hit man during the first meeting, but that could have been emotion talking. My emotions do not control me, so I didn’t feel the need to say anything.”
Connor slid the list back to Daly. “Can you put a check mark by the names who were favorable?”
While Daly did so, Kit’s phone buzzed with an incoming text from Navarro.
Hugh Smith is dead. Throat cut. Missing a finger. Safe open and empty. He’s been dead at least a day or two.
Kit exhaled. She was not shocked. When she showed her phone to Connor, he didn’t appear shocked, either.
So Hugh Smith was not Neckbeard. Damn.
“How did the man with the neckbeard sound, Mr.Daly?” Kit asked.
“I remember a deep, gravelly voice. He might have had a twang. But I really only remember the beard. It was a medium brown and came down his neck and went down under his collar.”
Kit nodded once. “Thank you, sir. You’re the only one we’ve met who’s survived meeting him. Hugh Smith is dead.”
Daly’s face went frighteningly pale, his swallow audible. “Hugh?”
“Yes, sir,” Kit said. “We may need more information as our investigation continues. Please don’t try to escape your safe house.”
Daly mopped his face, now drenched with sweat. “I won’t.”