Chapter Fifteen
San Diego PD, San Diego, California
Thursday, January 12, 12:15 a.m.
It had already been a very long night.
Kit rubbed her temples as she stood in the observation room looking through the glass. They’d brought in everyone on Simon Daly’s list, excepting Hugh Smith, of course.
Smith was in the morgue.
Their interview rooms were full, with a few of the people being held in conference rooms until space was cleared. At this point, every name on the list had lawyered up, their attorneys arriving wearing suits and looking awake.
Unlike us. Kit and Connor were tired and she knew that Kevin Marshall and Alf Ashton were as well. But they were going to power through, conducting at least the preliminary interviews while they still had each suspect separated to keep them from comparing stories with the others.
Kit and Connor had already interviewed Estelle White, who continued to deny that she’d been blackmailed by Munro, but there had been desperation in her gaze. Estelle had also denied being in Hugh Smith’s home and had denied participating in a discussion about hiring a hit man.
The woman had lied about everything. Even the threat of an examination of her financial records hadn’t been enough to break her. But Estelle was terrified. It was easy to see.
At this point, Estelle—and all the others who’d been interviewed so far—were counting on their comrades to keep the secret. If one went down, they all went down. If no one spoke, nothing could be proven, especially with Hugh Smith being dead.
The five surviving male suspects on Simon Daly’s list didn’t even have the courtesy of having different body types. Every one of the five was around five-ten, with an average weight and average build.
Any one of them could be Neckbeard.
Or none of them.
The man currently in the interview room was Peter Shoemaker. Shoemaker was forty-five, married to the same woman for twenty years, and a father of three. His oldest was a college freshman in San Francisco and his twin daughters were eight years old.
He had been a high school English teacher in an exclusive private academy for years but had recently transitioned into administration. He’d been an assistant principal for the past three years. Shoemaker looked nervous.
His attorney was an older man who appeared bored with the whole proceeding.
“You okay?” Sam asked quietly from behind her.
“Tired, that’s all.” She sent him a smile over her shoulder. “I’ve been worse.” Then she caught the aroma of coffee. “For me?”
He handed her a travel mug that looked familiar. “You and everyone else. I called your mom.”
Kit’s heart melted. “You did?”
“She made me promise to call her if you needed anything, so I did. I went to McKittrick House to pick it all up. There’s sandwiches, cookies, and an entire urn of coffee. Should keep you going most of the night.”
“Thank you, Sam. You’re too good to us.”
He just smiled and tapped the end of her nose. “Now get in there and make him talk.”
“If Estelle is any indication of how this will go, it’s not looking good.”
Marshall joined them at the glass. “Juanita Young confirmed the blackmail.”
Kit’s brows went up. “She did?”
“She did. Juanita’s lawyer heard about Daly’s deal and wants the same. Juanita says her ‘alleged’ crime would probably be a misdemeanor and the statute of limitations has run out.”
“But she continued to pay Munro,” Sam said. “Why?”
Marshall made a face. “Juanita said it was because Munro threatened to tell her boss and make sure that she never got hired again. Her job requires she be bonded and she could lose her license if she’s caught. She has no idea how Munro found out she’d ever been accused by a client of wrongdoing, unless he’d asked her ex-husband, who would have been glad to spread rumors. She’s not copping to the crime or any knowledge of the hit man plot, only to paying the blackmail to protect her job. Her day was the twelfth of every month and she paid five Gs. She said most of her ex-husband’s alimony and child support payments went to Munro. She didn’t admit to knowing about the dead-man’s-switch list, but she knew. Ashton and I both saw her flinch. She knew about the hit man too, even though she vociferously denied it.”
Kit tucked that away in her mind for later. “We can tell Shoemaker that she told us all about the hit man. We can even say that we know the hit man’s name. The only one who knows for sure how far Hugh Smith took his inquiry was Hugh Smith. And he’s not around to call me a liar.”
Connor entered the observation room, a cup of coffee in one hand. “You ready to roll?”
“Yep. You lead this time.” Kit arched her back. Her muscles were too damn tight. Next time Akiko was free, Kit was asking her for a massage. Her sister had trained to be a massage therapist, using that income to save for her boat. Now she was a full-time charter boat captain, but she could still bring Kit’s recalcitrant muscles to heel. “I’m ready as I’ll ever be. I hope I don’t have to be cheerful. I don’t think I’ve got that much energy left.”
Connor finished his coffee and followed her into the interview room.
“Mr.Shoemaker, I’m Detective McKittrick and this is my partner, Detective Robinson,” Kit said as she and Connor sat across from him. “We have some questions for you.”
“I gathered that,” Shoemaker said. His body language was nervous. He was sweating profusely, despite only wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt. His knee bounced and his fingers drummed on the tabletop. Kit wanted to tell him to stop because it was annoying, but a nervous suspect often blurted out things he’d later wish he hadn’t.
“We’re hoping you can help us with an ongoing investigation,” Connor said, taking the lead as they’d agreed.
“How?” Shoemaker sounded wary.
“Ask me your questions,” his attorney said. “Not him.”
Connor just smiled at the attorney and returned his attention to Shoemaker. “You were being blackmailed by Brooks Munro.”
Shoemaker’s mouth fell open, the color draining from his face. “What?” he whispered.
“Say nothing, Pete,” his lawyer said firmly. “My client admits to no such thing. Why are we here?”
“Because you, Peter,” Connor said, still ignoring the attorney, “were listed as being part of a plot to hire a hit man to murder Brooks Munro since you, and others, were being blackmailed. We’re obtaining warrants for your home, business, phones, and financial records as we speak. Murder for hire is a very serious charge. Now, the way this works is that whoever gives us information first gets the best deal. You’re already third in line behind your murder-for-hire compatriots. Tick tock.”
“This is ridiculous,” the lawyer snapped. “Is my client being arrested?”
“Not at the moment,” Connor said. “But we suggest you stay and listen to what we have to say,” he added when the lawyer stood up and gripped Shoemaker’s shoulder. “It could save your life, Peter.”
“What does that mean?” the lawyer asked angrily.
“It means,” Kit said, “that whoever killed Brooks Munro also killed at least one of the people involved in the murder-for-hire plot. Hugh Smith is this killer’s fifth victim. That we know of.”
The lawyer sat back down.
Shoemaker licked his lips nervously. “Hugh’s dead?”
“Throat slit,” Kit said. “Ear to ear. Lost a finger, too. His killer wanted the combination to Smith’s safe, and I don’t think Smith was initially cooperative.”
Shoemaker covered his mouth. “Oh God.”
Please don’t throw up. “Trash can’s behind you,” Kit said in a bored voice.
Connor leaned forward, elbows on the table. “So…your compatriot told us about the murder-for-hire plot in exchange for protection. Not sure if that deal’s still available, but we can ask the prosecutor nicely.”
Shoemaker closed his eyes. “Oh no,” he whispered.
“Pete?” his lawyer warned. “We discussed this. They can’t prove anything. If they could, they’d have arrested you already.”
“That’s what your compatriot said, Pete,” Connor said. “Until we told him that Hugh Smith was dead. Then he changed his tune. Look, unless what you did to get blackmailed was a homicide, we aren’t interested in the details. We want whoever killed Brooks Munro and four other people. We don’t want you to be number six.”
Shoemaker swallowed hard, then whispered something in his lawyer’s ear.
The lawyer shook his head. “Goddammit, Pete.” He blew out a breath. “Okay, what are you offering?”
“Nothing,” Connor said, “until we hear what it is he has to say. We already have some information.” He turned to Pete, who suddenly appeared terrified. “If you can’t provide anything new, no deal.”
“How will we know if Pete has anything new to offer?” the lawyer demanded. “What do you already know?”
“Nope,” Kit said coldly. “You first, Mr.Shoemaker.”
Shoemaker’s hand fell away from his mouth, dropping limply to the table. “We didn’t do it.”
“Didn’t do what, Peter?” Connor asked.
“Didn’t hire a hit man. We talked about it. Maybe fantasized about it a little, but we never followed through.”
Connor seemed relaxed, as if discussing the weather, but Kit knew he was alert and on edge. They both were. “Why not?” he asked.
Shoemaker’s laugh was mirthless. “Because we’re not killers. My God, this is a nightmare.”
“Start at the beginning,” Connor said sympathetically. “When did Munro begin to blackmail you?”
“Two years ago. I…cheated on my wife. That’s all I did.”
Kit wasn’t so sure about that, but she remained silent.
“And Munro found out?” Connor prodded.
“Yeah. I don’t know how, but he did. Said he’d tell my wife if I didn’t pay him. It was two thousand dollars a month. That was most of my paycheck. I’m an assistant principal, for God’s sake.”
“Your wife has the money?” Connor asked. “I seem to remember seeing her name in one of the country club’s newsletters.”
Once again, Kit was grateful that Connor was rich.
“Yes,” Shoemaker said bitterly. “She’s always had the money and has never loosened the purse strings. Her parents are obscenely wealthy and my wife has a trust fund. We have a prenup and if she found out I’d cheated, I’d lose everything. I wasn’t willing to lose everything, so I paid Munro what he asked for.”
“For two years,” Connor said.
Shoemaker nodded. “Yes.”
Kit made an impatient gesture. “And then?”
“I paid him and paid him and paid him. I thought there might be others getting blackmailed, but I didn’t know for sure. I wouldn’t have told them about my situation even if I had known. I didn’t want anyone to know. And then Earl O’Hanlon killed himself. I suspected that he’d been bankrupted by Munro, but again, I didn’t know for sure. Not until I got a call from Hugh Smith. He used a burner phone but called us on our cell phones. He couldn’t be touched, but he’d left a trail straight to us. He said to come to his house if we didn’t want our secrets shared.”
“So you went?” Connor asked.
“Of course I did,” Shoemaker snapped. “I know what Smith did for a living. I know he was some high-ranking security guy. I figured he was going to start blackmailing me, too. But that’s not what happened.”
“What did happen, Mr.Shoemaker?” Kit demanded, not having to fake her annoyance. This guy needed to get on with it. She and Connor still had several interviews to do.
“There were others there.”
Kit drummed her fingers on the table. “How many others?”
Shoemaker turned to her. “Look, I’m trying here, okay? Stop the—” He mimicked her drumming fingers. “You’re making this worse.”
Kit drummed her fingers once more before folding her hands on the table. She’d rattled him. Excellent. “How many others, Mr.Shoemaker?” she asked.
“Nine, I think.” Shoemaker closed his eyes, his mouth moving silently. Then he nodded and opened his eyes. “Nine. Including Hugh Smith. I can give you their names.”
Connor slid a legal pad and pen across the table. “Write.”
Shoemaker did, stopping to take deep breaths when his hands shook so hard that the pen ripped the paper. Finally, he’d listed the names.
They were the same names that Daly had provided.
“So what happened when you were called to Hugh Smith’s home?” Connor asked.
“He said that we’d all been victims of Munro’s blackmail. He said he didn’t know what we’d done and wasn’t interested in finding out, only that we work together to make Munro stop. ‘By any means necessary.’?” He used air quotes. “Those were his exact words. We discussed how to do that without giving ourselves up to the police. My issue wasn’t going to bring jail time, but I got the impression that the others would be in legal trouble. Mine was only a case of my wife finding out and cutting me off financially.”
Poor baby, Kit thought. Having to bear the consequences of his actions. So sad.
Shoemaker ran his fingers through his hair. “It was insane. We were sitting around talking about killing a man. About hiring a hit man , for God’s sake.”
“Who brought up the hit man?” Connor asked.
“Hugh. He said he knew a guy who knew a guy. I just wanted to go home.”
“Why didn’t you?” Kit asked.
Shoemaker’s eyes flashed. “Because first Munro held my life in his hands, and then Hugh did. I didn’t want him to either blackmail me or tell my wife.”
Ah. A possible discrepancy. He’d said that Hugh didn’t know what they’d done. “Do you think he knew why everyone there was being blackmailed?”
Shoemaker looked startled. “He said he didn’t. It’s possible he knew why, although I don’t know how he could have. But him just telling my wife I was being blackmailed would be catastrophic, even if he didn’t know why.”
“Okay,” Kit said. “Who was on board with the hit man?”
Shoemaker hesitated. “I don’t want to say.”
Kit shrugged. “Then we’re done.”
“Detective,” the lawyer snapped. “He’s doing his best.”
Kit leaned forward, so happy to be the bad cop. “He isn’t doing his best. He’s protecting his friends.”
“They’re not my friends,” Shoemaker said bitterly. “Not a single one of them is my friend. They only cared about themselves and they never spoke to me at the club. My wife was part of the social circle, but I wasn’t. I don’t play golf. I don’t dance. I am an assistant principal. I was beneath them.” He paused to suck in a deep breath. “Sorry. It’s just that the club put me on Munro’s radar. I didn’t even want to go after he started blackmailing me, but my wife insisted. She’s part of that world. I’m not. That’s why I had an affair. I was just looking for affection that didn’t come with a price tag.”
“Who was on board with the hit man, Mr.Shoemaker?” Connor asked, repeating Kit’s question.
Shoemaker closed his eyes. “Fucking hell.” He took another deep breath. “The women. Especially Juanita. Hugh was gung ho, of course. One of the other men, too. Bert.”
Bert Ramsey, Kit thought. One of Daly’s friends. “What happened then?”
“We took a vote. Everyone voted for the hit man. I left and didn’t even get to my car before I was throwing up. It was a nightmare. It is a nightmare.”
Kit bet Shoemaker wished he hadn’t cheated on his wife. She wondered if the “affection without a price tag” was worth the price he was paying now.
“And then?” Connor asked.
“I went home. Went to work. Tried to forget it had ever happened. Tried to believe it was just a bad dream. That lasted a week, and then Hugh called us back to his house. He said we needed to organize. When we got there, he said that the hit man he’d considered hiring was ‘hinky.’ That was the word he used. Hinky and creepy. He got cold feet and didn’t go through with it. Said he knew that sometimes undercover cops posed as hit men and he didn’t want to go to jail for that, too.”
“Smart,” Kit observed. “And then?”
“We talked about other ways to get back at Munro, to make him stop. We talked about finding a way to expose his dirty business dealings in the city council. We all knew he was dirty.”
“Did you come up with an idea?” Kit asked.
“Not a good one. Hugh mentioned the Agatha Christie novel Murder on the Orient Express . That we could all stab Munro and none of us would know who’d truly killed him. I couldn’t take any more. I left. I figured murder was a lot worse than being financially cut off. I decided to take my chances that Hugh wouldn’t tell my wife because then his crimes would be exposed, too. I didn’t hear anything more from any of them. The next thing I knew, I was reading online that Munro was dead.”
“What did you think happened to him?” Connor asked.
“Honestly? I figured Hugh had found a hit man. Or that he and the others had done their own Orient Express . All I know is that I wasn’t involved in Munro’s death.”
“Did you know about the dead man’s switch?” Kit asked. “The list he threatened to make public were he to die unexpectedly?”
“I didn’t until Hugh mentioned it. I always paid Munro. Like clockwork. I never missed and was never late, so I guess he didn’t think he had to threaten me.”
“Have you received instructions for this month’s payment?” Kit asked. “In the last few days, I mean.”
Shoemaker flinched. “Yes. I got a text to my phone on Sunday. My day is the seventeenth. I’m to take the money to a locker in the bus station.”
“So you knew that request couldn’t have come from Brooks Munro,” Kit said. “Since he was dead by then.”
“No, I guess not. So what happens next?”
“We’ll keep you, pending corroboration of your story.”
Shoemaker frowned. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Kit said, “that we’ll be searching your home, office, phone, and financial records just like we said we would when we started this interview. It’s being recorded, so you can watch it for yourself if you want verification.”
Shoemaker started to rise from his chair, but a menacing look from Connor had him sitting back down. “You’re going to search my house?”
“Yes,” Kit said. “You are involved in a murder-for-hire plot, Mr.Shoemaker. You should have come forward immediately after it happened. Like it or not, you’re part of a conspiracy to commit murder.”
“But I didn’t do anything!”
“That remains to be seen,” Kit said. “You didn’t report it, though, and that makes you look really bad, sir.”
“But…but now my wife is going to know.”
Kit shrugged. “That’s not our problem.”
Shoemaker’s eyes narrowed, fury clear on his face. “You—”
“Peter!” his lawyer interrupted. “That’s enough. We’ll get a deal. You’ve clearly given them a lot of information they didn’t have before. We will get a deal.”
Shoemaker slumped into his chair. “This is a nightmare.”
Kit glanced at Connor and saw his nod. He was also done.
She pushed to her feet. “Yeah, well, this killer’s five victims would agree with you that this is a nightmare. If they were still alive to do so. Sit tight. We’ll be back.”
They left Peter Shoemaker with his head in his hands.
San Diego PD, San Diego, California
Thursday, January 12, 12:45 a.m.
“Well?” Navarro asked. “What did you think?”
“Yeah, Sam,” Kit said, closing the observation room door. “What’s your opinion?”
Sam continued watching Peter Shoemaker, who’d begun to shiver despite the warmth of the interview room. The man pulled his head from his hands and was nervously pulling on his blazer. Mopping his sweaty brow, Shoemaker stuffed a handkerchief into his coat pocket, tugged his sleeves into place, then dropped his head back into his hands.
“I’m not sure,” Sam admitted. “He definitely hates his wife.”
Navarro snorted. “I got that.”
Sam sighed. “Paying most of your salary to a blackmailer seems like a lot of trouble to hide an affair from your wife, but I suppose the stakes are high.”
“The Shoemakers have a big, expensive house in La Jolla,” Kit said, coming to stand next to Sam. “They’re loaded with a capital ‘L.’?”
“They’re old money,” Connor said. “At least the wife is. Shoemaker himself grew up in Chula Vista. I believed him, I think. And I’m really glad he managed not to puke.”
That bothered Sam. “Was he actually going to, though? He didn’t look like other people I’ve seen vomiting because of stress. They get a glassy, panicked look in their eyes, but Shoemaker didn’t. Maybe he only thought he should be sickened by Hugh Smith having a finger chopped off.”
“You could be right,” Kit said. “I think the thing that bothers me is how all the people we’ve talked to assure us that their crimes either wouldn’t require jail time or, if they would, it would only be a few years. Or the statute of limitations has run out. We just have their word on that since only Munro, Grossman, and the killer—or killers—have seen the list.”
Sam nodded. “That bothers me, too. It’s like, Um yeah, I was blackmailed but it wasn’t for anything that bad. Trust me. But I still paid the money every month. I wonder what Peter Shoemaker’s wife would have to say about his affair. I wonder if she knows.”
Kit watched Shoemaker through the glass. “We’ll ask her when we search his house.”
Sam turned to her, surprised. “You weren’t bluffing about that?”
Kit gave him a wink. “I was, but Shoemaker just confirmed Daly’s murder-for-hire tale. We have enough to search his home and the homes of everyone on that list.”
“That was nicely done,” Navarro said. “I almost believed you myself. How many more people do you need to interview?”
Kit glanced at her phone screen. “We brought in eight, and Connor and I just interviewed two of them—Estelle White and Peter Shoemaker. Marshall and Ashton interviewed Juanita Young and they’re in with Henry Reese now. We each have two more. Bert Ramsey is next on our list.”
“Bert’s the president of an insurance company,” Connor said. “Not old , old money, but his family’s owned businesses in the city for decades. He was also one of Simon Daly’s friends. I guess we’ll see if their friendship will stand up to Daly’s narcing on him. You want me to be good cop, Kit?”
“Please. I still have hives from being so sweet with Daly.”
Sam chuckled. “You do not.” But he wanted to check every inch of her skin to make sure. Kit in cop mode was hotter than hell.
“Maybe not hives,” she allowed. “But it’s like a coat that’s two sizes too small. Come on, let’s move to the next interview room. Bert Ramsey awaits.”
Sam followed them, taking his place by the glass, next to Navarro, who’d been moving back and forth between the interviews Kit and Connor were conducting and those by Marshall and Ashton. Once they’d completed all the interviews, they’d gather to debrief.
“Bert Ramsey is the same size as Shoemaker,” Sam said, studying the man at the interview table. Who was the same size as Neckbeard.
Who was the same size as all the men in the group. They were all physically average in nearly every way.
Bert Ramsey was in his early fifties and appeared to be in good shape. His hair was cut severely, shaved on the sides and short on top, reminiscent of the Marine he’d once been.
Sam wondered where the man had served, in what capacity, and what he’d seen. He wondered if he’d come home hardened to life, or if he’d always been calm, cool, and collected in the face of what most people would consider a highly stressful situation.
Bert Ramsey was regarding the glass mirror as if he could see who watched him and was completely unimpressed.
“He’s very chill,” Sam said.
“Faking it,” Navarro said.
Sam wasn’t so sure. This was what he’d expected when they’d begun to interview the rich and somewhat powerful. This cool indifference. This lack of concern that the law could touch him.
Bert Ramsey radiated those vibes.
So had Brooks Munro. Sam could still see the man’s smirk as he’d propositioned Sam to declare Ronald Tasker unfit for trial.
“I guess we’ll find out,” Sam murmured as Kit and Connor took their seats.
“Hello, Mr.Ramsey,” Kit said. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Sam leaned closer to Navarro. “I thought she was going to be the bad cop.”
A small smile played over Navarro’s lips. “Just wait.”
“This is my partner, Detective Robinson,” Kit said. “Do you know why we brought you in tonight?”
Ramsey just stared at her.
His attorney, a well-dressed woman about half Ramsey’s age, frowned. “I’ve advised my client to say nothing.”
Kit smiled indulgently. “So did all the other attorneys. But their clients were convinced to say many things.” She turned to Ramsey. “You’re the CEO of a privately held insurance company. You specialize in healthcare.”
“Get on with it, Detective,” the attorney said in a frigid voice.
Kit ignored her, her attention still on Ramsey. “You hold people’s lives in your hands. That must make you feel powerful. Do you give them money for treatment or not? Do you allow them to live or let them die?”
“It’s not that simple,” Ramsey said, but there was a light in his eyes. One that said that yes, he did hold people’s lives in his hands and that, yes, that made him feel powerful.
“Sir,” the attorney murmured. “Please.”
Ramsey looked at the woman as if she too were a bug. “I know what I can and cannot say, Miss Fremont.”
The attorney’s frown deepened, but she didn’t say another word.
“Why do they even bring attorneys?” Sam asked. “They never listen to them.”
Navarro chuckled. “Neither did you, when you were sitting where they are.”
Sam scowled. “Not a good memory, Lieutenant.”
Navarro abruptly sobered. “I’m sorry, Dr.Reeves. That was uncalled for.”
Mollified, Sam grunted. It had been uncalled for.
It had also been true. When Sam had been a suspect for murder, he’d naively trusted that the system wouldn’t let him down because he was innocent.
It hadn’t, but that was because he’d been investigated by Kit McKittrick. She’d kept an open mind, determined to find the real killer and not throw Sam under the bus for her convenience. Kit’s partner at the time had been prepared—and happy—to arrest him, though.
Sam had forgiven Baz, mostly because the man had a passion for getting justice. Now they were friends, but Sam no longer believed that the justice system was fair to everyone.
Bert Ramsey was flicking invisible lint from his five-thousand-dollar suit. He had not looked at Kit since basically dismissing his attorney.
Kit and Connor remained silent, waiting for something. Sam wasn’t sure what.
Until Ramsey finally glanced at Kit before setting his gaze on Connor. “Am I being arrested, Detective?”
“Probably,” Connor said with a genuine smile. “Sorry, Bert. I know this is inconvenient. But that’s kind of what happens when you decide to participate in a murder-for-hire scheme.”
Ramsey’s only reaction was a slight twitch of his eye. There and gone before Sam could blink. He wondered if Kit and Connor had seen it.
He shouldn’t have wondered.
Kit set her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her fist. “We have corroborating statements placing you in the middle of negotiations for murder for hire, Mr.Ramsey. So, yes, we will be arresting you. Charges will follow after we’ve finished searching your home.”
One side of Ramsey’s mouth quirked up in a smirk similar to Munro’s. “I imagine you have a search warrant.”
“Of course,” Kit said. “So, why did you go to Hugh Smith’s home, Mr.Ramsey?”
Ramsey stiffened. “I was invited. I had no idea why. When I found out, I left.”
“Sir,” his attorney whispered.
Ramsey didn’t even look at the woman. “His security cameras will show that I was there, Miss Fremont.”
“They did,” Kit said. “We got the footage while processing the scene of his murder.”
Ramsey stilled. For a moment he didn’t even breathe. Then the smirk returned, but it seemed more fragile now. “Who would do such a thing, Detective?”
Navarro made a displeased sound. “He thinks he’s clever.”
Sam agreed. Luckily Kit was far cleverer.
“Maybe you did,” Kit said. “Hugh Smith knew you were being blackmailed.”
Ramsey’s expression didn’t change. “He told you this?”
Kit shook her head. “No, sir. The first time we encountered Hugh Smith in person, he was too dead to speak to us. Throat was slit ear to ear. Nasty business.” She settled in her chair, getting comfortable. “Thing is, he’s the fifth victim killed exactly this way. Do you own a knife, Mr.Ramsey?”
The attorney shoved her legal pad into her bag. “We’re finished here.”
“No, we’re not,” Kit said, her focus still on Ramsey. “Your client has been accused of conspiring to murder Brooks Munro. Two separate individuals have specifically mentioned Mr.Ramsey in connection with encouraging the contracting of a hit man.”
“I did no such thing,” Ramsey said smoothly. “Whoever said so is lying.”
“We’ll check your financial records, sir,” Kit said. “Will we find regular withdrawals in cash around the same time every month?”
Ramsey looked almost amused. “No, you won’t. Because blackmail never happened. Murder for hire never happened.”
Kit sighed. “You have a separate account for such transactions, then. One we’re not going to find easily. I hate when this happens. But we will find it, Mr.Ramsey. I promise you this. If I have to upend your life and put it on display for every Tom, Dick, and Harry in San Diego to see, I will find it.”
Ramsey’s eyes had narrowed, ever so slightly.
“Bingo,” Navarro murmured.
“Check the Caymans,” Sam said dryly. “Maybe he banks at the same place that Veronica and Grossman did.”
On Kit’s side of the glass, Ramsey said nothing, maybe finally listening to his attorney.
“Why was Munro blackmailing you?”
No answer.
Kit slid a photo of Walter Grossman across the table and Ramsey’s nostrils flared.
“Okay,” Kit said. “You know him. He was Munro’s PI. He managed to dig up a lot of dirt on a lot of people. Unfortunately, he too was a loose end.” She then showed Ramsey the photo of Grossman with his throat cut wide open. “This is what he looks like now.”
Not a single flicker of emotion whatsoever crossed the man’s face.
“Wow,” Sam murmured. “He’s a sociopath for sure, but that doesn’t mean he’s a killer. He could just be a CEO with an ironclad stomach.”
“He is very good,” Navarro murmured back. “That’s a hard photo to see.”
Sam shrugged. “He was a Marine. Maybe he’s seen his share of dead bodies.”
“So have I,” Navarro said. “But I still had a reaction to Grossman and Hugh Smith and even Munro. Bastard that Munro was, I couldn’t look at his mutilated body and not feel some degree of…disturbed.”
“Where did you meet this man?” Kit asked, tapping the photo of Grossman. When Ramsey said nothing, she remained calm. “Mr.Ramsey, there were ten people in Hugh Smith’s living room that night. Now there are nine, because Smith is dead. Smith was missing a finger, by the way. I don’t think he was forthcoming with the combination of his safe until his killer chopped it off. That had to have hurt. A lot. Munro was missing all his fingers and all his toes in addition to twenty-five stab wounds and the mutilation of his genitalia. Whoever killed them isn’t fooling around. They’ve also killed some innocent people who have been unfortunate enough to get in their way. Now, I imagine this doesn’t alarm you because you have bodyguards. Our police officers met them when they brought you in for questioning. Apparently, they’re former Marines, just like you.”
Ramsey narrowed his eyes to mere slits. “Not a former Marine, Detective. I’ll be a Marine long after you’ve been demoted back to walking a beat.”
Kit smiled. “Some days, walking a beat would be a blessing. I hate sitting at a desk. My point was, Mr.Ramsey, that of the ten people in that room, nine are left. Three have already named you as co-conspirator with Hugh Smith. With your military background—and bodyguards—I’d imagine you’d have resources at your disposal. Resources who might know hit men. That you and Hugh Smith were conspiring together isn’t a huge stretch. You certainly had the motivation, as you were also being blackmailed.”
“I was not being blackmailed. I don’t know where you’re getting your information, Detective, but I’ve done nothing that would put me in a position to be blackmailed.”
“Munro’s dead-man’s-switch list would beg to differ.”
Another twitch of Ramsey’s eye, again so fast that Sam nearly missed it.
Kit’s smile grew. “You know about the list. Three of your nine compatriots said that Hugh Smith mentioned it at your first meeting. I imagine paying blackmail was very hard for you at first. You’re a powerful man. Who was Brooks Munro to demand anything of you? He was some upstart nouveau riche asshole who drove a fancy car and lived off his wife.”
“He’s breathing harder,” Sam murmured.
“He is,” Navarro confirmed. “She’s getting to him.”
“Wilhelmina isn’t even his real wife,” Kit went on. “He was married to his admin, Veronica. I’m sure you met her. You were on Munro’s calendar last year. Nobody got an appointment with Munro unless they went through Veronica. They’ve been married for thirty-some years. Their whole San Diego existence was one big scam.” Kit sighed. “And you fell for it. Too bad. If you’d dug a little, you could have been blackmailing him instead of the other way around.”
Ramsey’s breathing had grown harder and faster, but his expression had gone neutral.
“You do understand how deals work, right, Mr.Ramsey?” Connor said helpfully. “The first to the trough get the best consideration. There are three people ahead of you and our partners in this investigation are speaking to another one of the surviving nine. You could be fourth or fifth if you don’t jump on the bandwagon soon.”
“I don’t need to make a deal,” Ramsey said, clearly seething. “I have done nothing wrong.”
“Well, I guess that’s for a judge and jury to decide,” Kit said. “I can see it now, splashed on every newspaper in the country.” She waved her hand as if seeing the headlines. “?‘CEO convicted of murder for hire. Sentenced to twenty years.’ You’ll be an old man when you get out, sir. And Munro’s killer will still be out there, walking free. Spending your money. Your three compatriots are getting deals that grant immunity for whatever they did to get blackmailed. You can, too.” She pulled another piece of paper from her folder. “This is a list of the people who plotted Munro’s death. The first one we received, actually. But it’s identical to the others.”
It was a slight stretch. There were no “others,” plural. Only Daly and Shoemaker had given them lists. But it was just a small fib.
Kit pushed the list Simon Daly had given them across the table. “Take a look, Mr.Ramsey. Recognize the one name not on this list?”
Ramsey didn’t look at the page immediately, but after about thirty seconds, his gaze dropped to read it, as if he couldn’t help himself.
His mouth immediately tightened, a muscle in his cheek clenching as he ground his teeth.
Kit’s smile was genuine. “I see you recognize who is not on the list. Your friend gave you up, Mr.Ramsey. Simon Daly got an excellent deal from the prosecutor. As my partner said, you know how this works. The quality of your deal is dependent on what you can offer us that we don’t already know. Tick tock, Mr.Ramsey.”
Ramsey’s fist clenched on the tabletop.
“Sir,” his attorney warned, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Not a word.”
Ramsey shook her hand off. “What was my friend’s excellent deal?”
“Transactional immunity,” Kit said with a grimace. “As a cop, I hate to see that happen. But sometimes you gotta break eggs to make an omelet, am I right, Detective Robinson?”
“You’re right, Detective McKittrick.”
“Daly won’t have to serve time for his crime?” Ramsey asked. “For whatever got him blackmailed?”
Kit didn’t blink. “That’s what ‘transactional immunity’ means, sir . Now, the question is, are you going to serve time for your crime and the murder for hire? Because that’s a lot more years, sir .”
Ramsey’s composure broke at last. “You’re a disrespectful bitch,” he snarled.
Kit shrugged. “I’ve been called so much worse. Sir. This is what’s going to happen next, because I don’t know about my partner, but I’m losing patience with you, and we still have several more interviews to do. Hopefully with people who are more cooperative than you are. We don’t really need you. If you continue to claim your innocence, we’ll arrest you, search your everything and then you’ll probably get out on bail, because you’re richer than I’ll ever be on a cop’s salary.”
Ramsey’s smirk was back.
“But I really hope you have good bodyguards,” Kit went on. “Because you’re a loose end. Whoever killed Munro—assuming you didn’t have a hand in stabbing him twenty-five times and cutting off his fingers and toes—seems hell-bent on permanently silencing anyone who could identify him. Eventually, should you survive , you will go to prison for a long time. No bodyguards there, unless you make some friends real quick. And eventually, should you survive , we will find that dead-man’s-switch list and know what you did. I will personally make sure you’re prosecuted to the fullest for that as well. Those are the facts, sir. You can still save yourself.”
Ramsey’s expression went cold as he hesitated. “Who else told you I was involved?”
Kit shook her head. “Can’t tell you that, sir . See, I’m not an expert boardroom negotiator like you are, sir . I’m just a cop, making one one-hundredth of what you make. You talk or you don’t. You get a deal or you don’t. It’s really up to you.”
Ramsey’s eye twitched again, his expression growing dark and thunderous. “I did not participate in the murder-for-hire plot.”
Kit’s expression remained neutral, but Sam could see that her body had subtly tensed. Only those who knew her would even recognize it for what it was—satisfaction. She knew she had him now.
“Who did?”
“Sir,” Ramsey’s attorney said loudly.
Ramsey swatted at her, not taking his eyes from Kit. If looks could kill, Kit would be dead where she sat.
Sam hoped Ramsey never got free.
“Hugh Smith. It was all Hugh Smith. Juanita Young said she knew someone if Smith’s contact didn’t pan out. I tried to get him to stop.”
“How?” Kit pressed. “How did you try to get him to stop?”
“The guy Smith was talking to was an undercover cop. Anyone with eyes could have seen it.”
“So you witnessed Hugh Smith talking to the hit man?” Kit asked carefully.
“Smith wore a wire to the meeting. I was listening. I told Smith to leave, that something was off. I was right. The man was an undercover cop. I checked him out later. Juanita gave Hugh her guy’s name and he was legit. I checked them both out. If anyone killed Munro, it was Juanita’s guy. She probably even helped him. I think they were sleeping together.”
“Juanita and Hugh Smith?” Connor asked.
“No.” Ramsey shot him an impatient, angry look. “Juanita and her hit man. If you want names, I’ll give you names. After I have a deal.”
Kit nodded once. “I’ll call Joel Haley, the prosecutor. You might have to wait. Mr.Haley is having a busy night.”