Chapter Sixteen
San Diego PD, San Diego, California
Thursday, January 12, 5:45 a.m.
Kit sent a mental thank-you to her mother for the large urn of coffee and food she’d sent to sustain them. This had been one long night. She needed to go home, sleep, and shower, but she had the feeling that none of those things were going to happen for a while.
She refilled her mug and joined the others at the conference table, taking a seat between Connor and Sam. The whiteboard was looking pretty full. She was going to have to reorganize it after this meeting.
Navarro tapped the table to get everyone’s attention. Marshall and Ashton had interviewed all their suspects, and Joel had joined the team after negotiating deals all night long. And then there was the captain, who’d come in especially for the debrief.
So…no pressure at all.
“We’ve finished interviewing all nine of the people involved in the plot to hire a hit man to kill Brooks Munro,” Navarro said.
“We have two names of hit men,” Joel added. “Bert Ramsey gave us the real hit man associated with Juanita Young and the fake hit man who Ramsey had correctly identified as an undercover cop. Real hit man is Jason Goodman and the UC cop is Kirk Torrence. You’ll need to contact Torrence’s handler, because his cover has been compromised.”
“Shit,” the captain muttered. “I know Torrence. He’s been very useful to us in his undercover capacity. But he’s been UC for a while, so it was nearly time to bring him back, anyway. I’ll take care of that. How did Bert Ramsey identify him?”
“He wouldn’t say,” Joel said. “He’s got a horde of bodyguards and some connections in the security world. We might be able to squeeze him further later, but that wasn’t my priority tonight.”
“I understand,” the captain said. “You’ve all had a long but productive twenty-four hours.”
Considering it was nearly dawn, that was a true fact. They were running on coffee and adrenaline.
“We still don’t know if the hit man did it,” Kit said. “The ME’s theory of multiple participants in the murder itself has yet to be disproven.”
“Do you think any of them could have stabbed Munro?” the captain asked.
Kit looked at the other detectives, who all gave her the nod to take the lead. “I think Simon Daly could have, sir,” she said. “I definitely think that Bert Ramsey could have. The man didn’t blink at the sight of Walter Grossman’s body.”
“Grossman was Munro’s PI?” the captain asked.
“Yes, sir,” Kit said. “According to Veronica, only Munro and Grossman knew who was on the list.”
“And I don’t think Veronica is lying about that,” Joel said. “She’d be able to negotiate herself a sweeter deal if she knew and she hasn’t done that yet.”
“Sam?” Navarro asked. “Your take?”
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “I definitely agree that Bert Ramsey is capable of stabbing a man. He’s a cold-blooded sociopath. But I’m not sure he did stab Munro. Like the others, I don’t think he’d get his hands dirty. I don’t think that any of them would have participated in the murder-for-hire scheme if Hugh Smith hadn’t ambushed them all by inviting them to his house.”
“Could one of the nine have killed Hugh Smith?” the captain asked. “I’d be mad as fuck if someone outed my blackmail situation like that.”
“Possibly,” Kit said. “We’re still waiting on the ME to give us a tighter window on Smith’s time of death. Right now, it’s going to be difficult to get airtight alibis on any of them because they’d have to account for every moment of two full days. They were likely all alone at one point, so…”
“Got it,” the captain said.
“I’ve got two of my detectives searching for Jason Goodman, sir,” Navarro said. “The hit man associated with Juanita Young.”
Ashton smirked. “Juanita Young offered him up on a platter like a Thanksgiving turkey, affair or no affair.”
“That made my job easier, for sure,” Joel said.
“Ours too,” Navarro said. “She told us exactly where to find him. I’ve sent people to pick him up. Hopefully we’ll have news on that front soon.”
“What about this ‘Neckbeard’ character?” the captain asked, using air quotes.
Connor sighed. “He’s infuriatingly average. We have video of him, but he’s either covered in more facial hair than Sasquatch or wearing a hoodie and a mask. We have no clear photo of his face. From a body-type standpoint, every one of our male suspects could be him. Hell, half the men in this room could be him. We just don’t know. At this point, we need to check the alibis of the nine suspects for the time during which Munro was abducted and then tortured.”
“Each agreement requires them to cooperate with the police,” Joel said. “I kind of hope they don’t because I need a shower after negotiating all those deals. I’d like all of them to break their deals just so I don’t have to follow through with them.”
“Did everyone get a deal?” the captain asked, frowning.
“No. The last three we talked to didn’t have anything new.” Joel huffed a weary laugh. “They were very angry that they were last. Kind of like when you’re at the back row of the airplane and all the good dinner choices are already gone by the time the meal cart gets to you.”
Kit slid a plate of sandwiches over to Joel. “You’re making food references. Eat something.”
Joel grabbed a sandwich. “Thank you. I’ll be honest with you. They’re all going to get out on bail. We have them for conspiracy to murder Munro, but the real evidence is only what they’ve said about each other. We have no physical evidence yet. The finger-pointing will be compelling at trial, but I don’t think a judge is going to give us a no-bail option at arraignment. These are ‘pillars of the community,’ and a lot of them donate to the various judges. They’ll be back at home by five p.m. today.”
“Can we at least get their passports taken?” Kit asked.
“I’m sure as hell gonna try. They’re definitely flight risks. But I can’t make promises. We should plan to have them watched as soon as they’re out on bail. Especially Bert Ramsey. Simon Daly negotiated a safe house for himself and his wife, so he’ll be where we can easily find him, but none of the others got protection. None of them asked for it.”
“That’s telling,” Marshall murmured. “They don’t want to be under surveillance.”
“Well, they’re gonna be,” Navarro said grimly. “I’ll set that up. Thanks for the heads-up, Joel.”
Joel waved at him, having filled his mouth with a huge bite of his sandwich. He closed his eyes and moaned, a pitiful little sound.
“Anyone have anything else?” the captain asked.
“The tan Chevy Suburban,” Sam said. “The one that the landscaper saw Neckbeard driving. Has there been any success in tracking it with an unwrapped trailer?”
“I’ve got a team analyzing all the traffic cams,” Navarro said. “They’ve tracked two that may be the same Suburban/trailer combo. One was last seen on 163 and the other was on the 8.”
“State Route 163 runs north,” Connor said with a frown. “I-8 runs east. Which way did he go?”
Navarro shook his head. “They’re still working to figure out where the vehicles went from there. They disappear, then reappear. The vehicles aren’t where my team expects them to be if they use normal traffic patterns.”
“He’s doing it on purpose,” Kit said. “To muddy the waters.”
“It’s working,” Navarro muttered. “But we’re not giving up.”
“Sir, what about Christopher Drummond?” Kit asked. “We’re not still entertaining his offer, are we?”
The captain gave Navarro a questioning stare and Kit winced. “Sorry, Lieutenant,” she murmured.
Navarro waved her apology away. “I told you that Drummond offered to exchange information for a deal,” he reminded the captain. “I also told you that we didn’t want to allow it.”
“I remember,” the captain said. “I also remember telling you to find out what he knows.”
Kit swallowed, the food she’d eaten taking a nasty roll in her stomach. But she trusted Navarro. He’d had her back on numerous occasions.
He’d also heard Rita quietly confess to having been assaulted by Drummond.
“He murdered a woman in cold blood,” Navarro said evenly. “That is not something we want to reward.”
The captain looked displeased. His mouth was set as if he planned to further discuss this with Navarro later.
Kit cleared her throat. “Captain? We now know who was involved in the plot to kill Brooks Munro, in part because of Drummond’s offer. We weren’t looking at the country club connection before that. It makes sense that the country club set was the information he wanted to trade. Every one of the nine people we talked to tonight is implicated by Munro’s dead-man’s-switch list. And when we find the list, my bet is that Drummond is on it, too.”
Navarro nodded. “I’m thinking the same thing. If the country club/blackmail connection is what Drummond intends to offer, he wouldn’t have known unless he was being blackmailed, too. Whatever we find on that list, we can use to charge him with later. If he’s given an immunity deal, he could include any past crimes included in this case. I’d rather wait until we find the list and not immediately give away an opportunity to get Drummond for something more.”
More than the murder of Rita’s mother. More than the rape of a child. Either should have been enough to put Drummond away forever, but Kit knew that wasn’t how the system always worked.
Evil people knew how to get away with their crimes. Especially smart, rich evil people.
The captain considered Navarro’s words. “That makes sense. All right, then, I can be patient. I guess Drummond isn’t going anywhere for the time being. He needs us at this point.”
“His attorney called my office all day yesterday,” Joel said, having wolfed down a sandwich and taken another. “Asking when we’re going to sit down and discuss this with his client. I told the attorney to back off, and my boss is in agreement. We don’t want to give Drummond the time of day if we don’t absolutely have to. We believe that Drummond is responsible for making a threatening overture toward his victim’s fourteen-year-old daughter and we want to get him for witness tampering too, if we can. Giving that man a deal is the last thing we want to do.”
Kit briefly closed her eyes, relief washing over her. Thank you, Joel.
“I didn’t know he’d been in contact with the child,” the captain said in a quiet, furious way that made Kit wonder if Navarro actually had disclosed the rape that Rita wasn’t yet ready to report. If she ever is.
“Not with the victim’s daughter personally,” Joel said. “She received an anonymous letter that—understandably—made her believe that she was being watched. I think it was Drummond and my boss agrees. Drummond is scum, plain and simple. I’d rather give immunity to a million Veronica Fitzgeralds than one Christopher Drummond, and that’s only because Fitzgerald doesn’t know exactly who’s on the list and what they’ve done. Munro and his PI knew and now they’re dead. If the PI had survived, I wouldn’t want to give him a deal, either.”
“Understood,” the captain said. “Where is Veronica Fitzgerald now? Is she out on bail yet?”
Joel shook his head. “Given that both Munro and Grossman are dead, her attorney and I agreed that she’d be safer in protective custody, so she’ll remain your guest until things are settled.”
The captain nodded. “I concur with what you’ve all said. This is good work, people. I know you’ve been working nearly round the clock on this and we appreciate it. Just…try to work faster.”
“And on that note,” Navarro said, “go home and get some rest while you can. Simon Daly and his wife are already in a safe house. The remaining eight will be out on bail soon, so you’re going to have to hustle to get the evidence to bring them down.”
San Diego PD, San Diego, California
Thursday, January 12, 6:30 a.m.
Kit found herself stumbling as she walked to her Subaru, which was parked in the employee lot. She hadn’t been so tired in a long time.
Getting soft.
No, not true. She’d just gotten used to what it felt like to take care of herself. For the longest time, her life had been only work, eat, sleep, and repeat. Occasionally she’d break to have Sunday dinner with her family. In the past nine months she’d gotten better about prioritizing. This wasn’t the first time she’d gone twenty-four hours without sleep during that period, but it didn’t happen nearly often enough anymore to become the norm.
Her bed at McKittrick House beckoned. Mom and Pop would have the girls off to school by the time she got home. She could cuddle up with her dog and get some rest before it all started again.
“You.”
Kit spun around at the voice, filled with venom. And she froze.
“You,” she repeated, her heart beginning to hammer. Not from fear, but from fury.
Christopher Drummond loomed over her, his toes not even an inch from her own. He was a tall man, and he used that height to try to intimidate her.
“You’re responsible,” he hissed, his breath foul. He smelled like whiskey and desperation.
“For what?” she asked calmly, sliding her hand into her pocket for her cell phone. She’d get help quickly enough by contacting 911. She was in the SDPD parking lot, for fuck’s sake.
If she could activate her recording app, even better. But for now, she needed to get help before this escalated. She tapped the side button on her phone five times. It was a powerful thing, being able to contact 911 without dialing. She’d never had to use it before but was glad she’d set it up.
Her other hand moved to her service weapon. She released the safety latch on her holster and gripped the gun’s handle firmly. She didn’t want to fire her weapon at Drummond unless it was to save her own life.
So much paperwork was required after firing one’s service weapon.
Drummond poked her chest with his finger, hard enough to hurt. “I was gonna get a deal, but you got in my way.”
“Not my call, Mr.Drummond. Take it up with the prosecutor.”
“He’s in with you. Probably sleeping with you, you bitch.”
Kit took a measured step back. Drummond stepped forward, still in her space. “I need you to move away, sir,” she said politely.
He was baiting her into taking action against him and she wasn’t going to do that. Not when he could muddy the waters of his case by screaming that she’d assaulted him, which she figured was his intent.
“You go back in there and tell that fucker Haley to call me. And his news better be good.”
“I’m not telling Joel Haley anything. Sir ,” she added, making her tone as sarcastic as she could muster. At least she wasn’t tired any longer. Adrenaline was surging like a flood-swollen river. “You murdered a woman in cold blood and assaulted her child. I’m not lifting a finger to help you. You’ve earned whatever horrible things happen to you from here on out. Have a good day. Sir. ” He reached out and gripped her arm, faster than she’d believed him capable. He was strong, too. She’d have a bruise later. “Release me. Now.”
Drummond tugged her into him, his face close enough that their noses nearly touched. “What did you say?”
Kit blinked at him, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”
There were cameras all over the place. Surely one of them was capturing this moment. Hopefully with audio.
“What did the little whore say I did?”
“You mean the child of the woman you murdered?”
“I didn’t touch that kid. Whatever she said I did, she’s lying.”
But once again, he sounded desperate. Desperate and oh so guilty.
Please be recording, cameras. Please.
“That’s for a jury of your peers to decide, Mr.Drummond.”
“She never said I touched her. My lawyer would have told me.”
“Did you? Touch her?” That Kit wasn’t clawing his eyes out or filling him with bullets made her proud of her own self-control. You motherfucker. Touching my little sister. I will end you. But she’d do so legally.
She needed Rita to see that the justice system did work.
His iron grip on her arm tightened, and he hauled her even closer until the front of her body was up against his. “I didn’t fuck her. If she says I did, she’s lying.”
His fetid breath filled her nostrils. Do not gag.
“I never said you ‘fucked’ her, sir.” The words wanted to stick in her throat, choking her. “I only said you assaulted her.”
His grip tightened even further and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from wincing. “She’s a liar,” he snarled.
Kit’s fingers flexed on her service weapon. She’d have to stop him soon. “We’ll see what the DNA says.”
It was a long shot. Rita had never told her any details of the assault and Kit had no idea if there was any physical evidence of the act, as Rita hadn’t told anyone at the time it happened.
But Kit was certain that there’d been no rape kit. Drummond didn’t know that, though.
He blanched. “What?”
“I said, we’ll see what the DNA says. You do know about DNA, right? It’s the hard evidence that proves you killed Maria Mendoza.” Rita’s mother’s skin cells had been embedded in the crevices of the signet ring that he’d worn the night he’d beaten her to death.
Connor had been responsible for that investigation shortly before they’d been partnered up. Thank you, Connor.
Drummond took a step back, still holding her arm. “You’re lying,” he said, his voice uncertain. And scared.
She smiled up at him. “Whatever makes you feel better. Next time you rape a child, use a condom.”
“I did,” he gritted out as his free hand balled into a fist and headed for her face.
But she saw this one coming. Catching his arm and simultaneously wrenching her own free, she spun him around and kicked his legs out from under him.
Drummond fell to the pavement with a thud hard enough that she might have felt sympathy if she hadn’t hated him so much.
“You’re under arrest for assaulting a police officer,” she said as she cuffed him. “And hopefully for a whole lot more.”
He was cursing a blue streak when she jerked him to his feet. Kit just let the insults roll off her. And wished to high heaven that she’d been able to record the entire exchange.
“Nice,” a familiar voice said from the shadows behind her car. Sam stepped out, clutching one of her mother’s Pyrex baking dishes in one hand and his cell phone in the other. The cell phone was pointed straight at Drummond.
She grinned at Sam, hoping that he’d recorded everything. “Were you going to hit him in the head with the dish?”
Sam shrugged. “If I had to. I figured you had things under control, but I had your back. Just in case.”
“You got it all on video?”
Sam’s smile was feral. “Every word. Even ‘I did.’?”
Drummond began to struggle, but Kit just kicked his legs from underneath him again, dropping to kneel on his back, her knee in his kidney.
Sam looked equal parts exultant and pained, the latter most likely at the memory of the time she’d done the same thing to him.
Luckily Sam had more than forgiven her.
“He’s not as smart as I thought he was,” Connor said, casually approaching as he reholstered his gun. “I didn’t think you’d get him to admit to anything.”
“Me either,” Kit confessed, “but he’s drunk and maybe even high. Not a good combination.”
Marshall and Ashton were close behind Connor. “That was awesome,” Ashton said. “Better than television.”
That her colleagues had had her back was reassuring. She’d been certain that she’d been all alone.
Connor yanked Drummond to his feet and the three men escorted him back into the building. “Go home, Kit,” Connor said over his shoulder. “We’ll get him in a holding cell until we can fill out the paperwork. Hopefully by then he’ll be sober and fully able to appreciate what he just did to himself.”
Sam tapped his cell phone as the detectives walked away. “Just sent the video to you and Connor and to my cloud account.” He set the Pyrex dish on the hood of Kit’s Subaru. “Did he hurt you?”
She shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle. I was hoping to at least get him for assaulting a cop. Didn’t dream he’d actually say anything useful.”
Sam gently pushed back the sleeve of her jacket and, using the flashlight on his phone, checked her arm where Drummond had grabbed her. Sam’s jaw tensed. “It’s red already. You need ice.”
I need you. Because once again this man had come to her aid. Even though she could have dealt with Drummond on her own, having had Sam with her made her too warm and happy.
She leaned into him, resting her forehead on his chest. “Thank you.”
His arms came around her, snug and safe. “You forgot to take your mother’s dishes and the coffee urn. I was bringing them out to you when I saw him grab you. I texted Connor and then started recording.”
“After you grabbed Mom’s dish to bash him on the head with.”
His chuckle rumbled up from his chest. “Don’t have a gun. Had to make do.” He inhaled deeply, his voice changing. Becoming shaky. “You scared ten years off my life.”
“I had him under control.”
“I know. It’s the only reason I didn’t hit him myself. But you still scared me. What if he’d had a gun?”
“Kevlar.”
“Doesn’t protect everything.” He exhaled, his shoulders sagging. “I know you’re careful. But…”
“I know,” she whispered. Then she pulled back far enough so that she could meet his eyes. Those lovely green eyes behind the Clark Kent glasses. As usual, they were open and honest and said a million things that she couldn’t parse right now. “Thank you. For having my back. And for trusting that I could handle myself. But especially for recording everything. It will make a huge difference.”
“If they can use that to get a guilty plea out of that miserable sonofabitch, then Rita can report the crime without having to testify in court. Not at that trial at least.”
She’d still have to testify at Drummond’s murder trial, but Kit believed that Rita could handle that. Especially if the man was being punished for the sexual assault.
“Thank you,” she said again, then lifted on her toes to kiss him. Just a quick one, but it still made him smile. “You’re my knight in shining armor.”
“Wielding my trusty nine-by-thirteen baking dish.”
She wanted to laugh, but she found her eyes stinging instead. “I think I’m having an adrenaline crash.”
“Then let me drive you home.”
She wanted to say no. But he was right. She shouldn’t be behind the wheel of a car right now. “Okay.”
La Jolla, San Diego, California
Thursday, January 12, 12:15 p.m.
“Wow,” Kit breathed as Connor drove them up the winding driveway to Peter Shoemaker’s home.
The house itself was spectacular. Up on a hill, the house was done in an old Spanish hacienda style, but with a literal twist. The house wound around itself, creating a spiral effect.
“The entire back side is semicircular,” Connor said. “All windows. Backs right up to the bluffs. The views of the ocean at sunset are breathtaking.”
Kit rolled the car window down a few inches and was immediately met with the sound of crashing waves and the smell of salt water. “How do you know what the back looks like?”
“I googled it,” Connor said. “It was featured in a magazine about fifteen years ago. The Shoemakers have lived here for ten years, so they weren’t the owners then. But I can’t imagine that they changed much. This house sold for twenty mil. When you spend that much, you don’t want a fixer-upper.”
Kit swallowed hard. “Twenty million dollars?”
“Yep. You ready to meet the wife?”
They’d come to both search Shoemaker’s home and question Aylene Shoemaker about her husband’s alibi. He’d told Joel that he’d been with Aylene on Wednesday after school when Brooks Munro had been abducted, at school the next two days, then at home with her again the next two evenings. They’d already confirmed that he’d been at school all day from Wednesday through Friday, but the rest of the time was still in question.
They were checking alibis of all nine participants in the murder-for-hire scheme, but as Kit had predicted, getting the location and activities for all nine was proving difficult. Hopefully Peter Shoemaker’s wife would be able to back her husband up. They’d at least be able to cross his name off their list.
Kit wished that Sam could be with them today, but he’d had clients that morning and an afternoon of volunteering at New Horizons. He had to be exhausted. At least she and Connor had been able to sleep four or five hours. Sam couldn’t have gotten more than an hour’s sleep before his day had begun.
They crested the hill and Connor tapped the car’s brakes. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. What the hell?”
Kit’s thoughts of Sam evaporated at the scene before them. A police car sat alongside a Rolls-Royce in the circular driveway in front of the home where two uniformed officers were restraining an older man. The man appeared to be in his mid to late sixties and he was shouting and fighting them.
Kit and Connor hurried to the action, showing their credentials. “What’s the problem, Officers?” Kit asked.
“This man was trying to break into the house,” one of the uniforms said.
“I was not!” the man thundered. “I bought this house. My daughter lives here. I’m trying to get in there to check on her, but my key isn’t working.”
Kit held up her hands, hoping to both reassure and quiet the man. “What’s your name, sir?” She glanced at the officers. “Can you let him go? Don’t run, sir. We want to help you.”
Because she’d had a sudden shiver at the thought of this man coming to check on his daughter. From his age, Kit was guessing that his daughter was Peter Shoemaker’s wife.
The man yanked out of the officers’ grips and turned to face Kit. “I’m Duncan Tindall.”
“He is,” Connor confirmed in a quiet whisper that only Kit could hear.
Even Kit recognized that name. Duncan Tindall was one of the wealthiest men in Southern California.
“Thank you, sir. I’m Detective McKittrick and this is my partner, Detective Robinson. Tell me what’s happened.”
Tindall drew a shaky breath and let it out. “My daughter Aylene isn’t answering my phone calls. She always answers my calls. My twin granddaughters are staying with us for a few days and they wanted to talk to their mother, but she didn’t answer their calls, either. Something is wrong.”
“Do the children live with you?” Kit asked.
“No. My daughter asked me to keep them for a few days. She and my son-in-law wanted some time alone before the spring semester got busy.”
“And you have a key to the house?” Connor asked.
Tindall glowered. “Yes, I have a key. I bought this damn house!”
“I’m so sorry, sir,” Kit said, hoping she sounded placating. “We didn’t mean to insinuate anything. You say your key no longer fits?”
“It doesn’t. I was trying the windows when these… men accosted me.”
The uniforms gave Kit and Connor identical unimpressed looks. “We were assigned to make sure no one entered who wasn’t authorized,” one of them said.
Tindall’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” The single word was filled with a combination of outrage and fear.
“Your son-in-law was brought in last night for questioning,” Connor told him.
Tindall’s outrage seemed to deflate, shock taking over. “For what? Pete’s a fine man.”
A taxi pulled up behind them and none other than Peter Shoemaker got out of the back seat. He waved the taxi away and started toward them, a wary expression on his face.
“Why are you here, Dad?” Shoemaker asked, ignoring Kit and Connor.
“Why doesn’t my key fit in the lock?” Tindall demanded. “And why were you brought in for questioning?”
“I’d hoped I’d be able to talk to Aylene about this in private first. Why are you here, Detectives?”
“To search your house and to talk to your wife,” Kit said. “We’re confirming alibis, just as we said we would. Sounds like we all want to talk to Mrs.Shoemaker.”
“Tindall,” Tindall corrected. “She kept her maiden name.”
Which seemed to bother Peter Shoemaker if his frown was any indication. “Your key doesn’t work because Aylene changed the locks,” he said. “There were reports of a prowler around, so she wanted to be careful.” He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and gave one to his father-in-law. “Here you go. Now, why are you here, Dad?”
“Aylene isn’t answering my calls. She didn’t answer when the girls called, either.”
Shoemaker stilled. “She didn’t answer when I called, either. I thought she was mad because I didn’t come home last night.” He started for the front door at a fast jog. “She was mad when I left.”
“Did you tell her where you were going?” Kit asked, following closely behind because the shiver down her spine had grown to full-blown dread.
Something was wrong.
“No. She was already in the bathtub when…when I was summoned. I figured I’d only be an hour. Two tops. I told her to enjoy her bath and I’d be home soon.” Shoemaker’s hands shook as he tried to get his key into the lock. “And then…after…I didn’t want to have to explain anything to her over the phone.”
“Explain what ?” Tindall demanded. “Dammit, Pete. What’s going on?”
“In a minute, Dad.” Shoemaker sucked in a breath and blew it out, trying to calm himself. “I need to get inside.”
“Let me,” Connor said, taking the key from Shoemaker’s hand. It slid into the lock and easily turned.
Kit looked up and froze. Oh shit. The camera pointing at the door had been covered with black spray paint.
“Detective,” she murmured, pointing up when Connor looked over his shoulder.
Connor looked up, his eyes closing briefly before he returned Shoemaker’s keys. “We’re going to need you to stay out here for a few minutes, Mr.Shoemaker, Mr.Tindall. Please.”
“No!” Tindall shouted. “I want to know what’s going on!”
“And we’ll tell you as soon as we know,” Kit assured him. “Officers?”
The two uniformed officers took their places in front of the door, barring entry to the two men, who were both freaking out.
Kit and Connor took the stairs at a run, the elegant staircase more than wide enough for them both at the same time. The seven bedrooms were clear, but when they entered the primary bath, they stopped in their tracks.
“Motherfucker,” Connor muttered.
Yes, Kit thought. Motherfucker.
Because Aylene Tindall lay in the immense bathtub, the water a dark brownish red. Her throat had been slit. Ear to ear.
Kit took a step back and called it in to Dispatch while Connor called CSU. She then called Alicia Batra to retrieve the body, finishing her call as Connor was dialing Navarro. He put Navarro on speaker.
“What?” Navarro asked flatly when he picked up.
“Shoemaker’s wife is dead,” Connor said. “Throat slit, same as the others. And the front door camera’s been painted over.”
“Goddammit.” Navarro sighed. “I’ll add additional protection to the families of the other seven. Seems like Simon Daly asking for protection was timely.”
“Maybe too timely,” Kit said. “I guess it depends on when Aylene Tindall was killed.”
“She’s Shoemaker’s wife?” Navarro asked. “Christ, this is a nightmare. She’s the heiress to one of the biggest fortunes in Southern California. The mayor has been on my back for days and this is just going to make things worse. Keep me posted as you know more.”
Kit couldn’t rip her gaze from the dead woman in the tub. “She was Peter Shoemaker’s alibi, sir. Now we can’t ask her anything.”
“I know. Have you done any other alibi confirmations?”
“So far Estelle White’s alibi has checked out. Shoemaker was our second visit. We haven’t talked to Marshall and Ashton about their afternoon.”
“Juanita Young’s and Henry Reese’s alibis also checked out,” Navarro said. “Kevin and Alf just reported in. I’ll send them to check out Bert Ramsey’s alibi next. We can check Simon Daly’s last, since he’s in a safe house and isn’t going anywhere for now. The one woman and the other two men haven’t posted bail yet, but they will within the hour. Joel was able to get the judge to confiscate all their passports.”
“Unless they’re like Veronica and have fake ones,” Kit said.
“I’ve got local airports—including charter services—on BOLO. If they try to flee the country, we’ll pick them up. Everyone has police presence at their homes and workplaces. We’re telling them it’s to keep them safe, and after Aylene Tindall’s murder, they might even believe us. Stay there at the scene and take statements. I’ll keep Kevin and Alf on alibis. You can pick up any of the ones they didn’t get to once the Shoemaker scene is secured. I’ll send people out to check on the immediate families of the remaining seven.”
Seven, Kit thought, mentally counting them. Of the ten, Hugh Smith was dead. Simon Daly and his wife were in a safe house. Peter Shoemaker’s wife was dead. That left seven suspects’ families to check. Good. They couldn’t let anyone fall through the cracks.
“Do we know where Hugh Smith’s wife is?” Kit asked.
“Visiting their grandchildren,” Navarro said. “She’s in Baltimore now, and she’s been notified of his death. She’s on her way home.”
“Aylene Tindall and Peter Shoemaker have three children,” Connor said. “One’s in college in San Francisco. We’ll get the location and have someone inform her as well.”
Kit was still staring at Aylene Tindall’s body. “Why kill Shoemaker’s wife? Was it a message? And if so, what? He said he was making payments to Munro. He said he would have continued making payments to Neckbeard, if Hugh Smith hadn’t outed them all. He said his only crime was cheating on Aylene.”
“He said a lot of things,” Navarro muttered. “They all did. And I’m betting a lot of it was lies to either get a deal or to try to make us forget to investigate what they did to be on Munro’s list. Or both.”
Kit sighed. “We need to tell her father and her husband. They’re outside.”
Navarro’s sigh echoed her own. “Get to it, then.”
Connor turned for the bathroom door. “I’ll do it this time. It’s my turn.”
“Wait.” Kit lightly grabbed Connor’s hand before he ended the call with Navarro. “Check on Wilhelmina Munro as well. If Neckbeard’s starting to kill family members, he might go after her and Rafferty, her caretaker.”
“Didn’t they go back to Boston?” Navarro asked.
“No. She said that even though she wasn’t going to bury her husband—because Veronica gets to do that, being the legal wife—she’s going to stay until we finish our investigation. I told her it could be a while, but she’s rented a condo in the city. I’ll text you the address.”
“Thank you. Stay safe, both of you.” Navarro ended the call.
Connor exhaled. “Let’s do this.”
They headed down the stairs, able to hear both Shoemaker and Tindall shouting at the cops on the other side of the closed front door. Kit and Connor slipped through, not giving the two men a chance to enter.
Connor exhaled again. He really hated doing notifications, Kit knew, but no one liked them. And it was his turn.
“Your wife is dead, Mr.Shoemaker,” Connor said as compassionately as he could. “You can’t go in until the forensics team and medical examiner are finished and we’ve cleared the scene.”
Shoemaker just…collapsed. Fell on the concrete front porch on his ass and didn’t even react to the pain of the fall. He looked like he’d been unplugged. His body sagged and he leaned back against the front wall of the house.
“This is all my fault,” he whispered.
Tindall had gone an alarming shade of white. “What?” he asked soundlessly, the word forming only on his lips.
Kit took his arm and escorted him to a porch swing that gently swayed in the ocean breeze. “I’m so sorry, sir.”
He slumped onto the swing and stared up at her. “How?” Again the word was soundless.
“She was murdered, sir.”
Closing his eyes, he mouthed murdered but said no more.
“Can we call someone for you, sir?” Kit asked. “Your wife?”
He nodded, still silent. Then his eyes opened and Kit saw the glazed look of shock. “Kennedy. I need to tell her.”
“Who is Kennedy?”
“My granddaughter. She’s at college.” He fumbled for his phone, but Kit stayed him with a gentle touch to his wrist. “Let’s make sure someone’s with her when you tell her, okay? Like a friend or a dorm roommate. Maybe her residential advisor.”
Tindall nodded numbly. “The girls. How am I going to tell them?” Tears welled in his eyes. “Why would someone hurt my Aylene? She was good. Kind.”
“I don’t know,” Kit said honestly. “We’re going to find out.”
He nodded again, then went still. Then rigid, sitting up so abruptly that the swing nearly dumped him. “What does this have to do with Pete? Why was he questioned?”
Kit glanced over at Peter Shoemaker, who still sat on the concrete, rocking himself. His mouth continued to move and Kit thought he was saying, over and over, that it was all his fault.
“I can’t give you all the details right now—we’re still figuring things out,” she added when Tindall opened his mouth, undoubtedly to object. “But your son-in-law was questioned because we believe he was being blackmailed.”
Again Tindall looked lost. “Pete? For what?”
Kit was nearly certain that Peter Shoemaker had done far more than cheat on his wife. The message Neckbeard was sending was graphic: pay or else. And, relative to the sums the other blackmailees were paying, Shoemaker’s two thousand a month didn’t seem enough to murder a woman over. “I’m not sure. Like I said, we’re just getting started on our investigation. But we will find out.”
A muscle clenched in Tindall’s jaw. “So this really is Pete’s fault?”
“Well, no, sir. It’s the fault of whoever’s been killing people over the last week.”
Tindall stared at her again, and then clarity seemed to hit him. “Brooks Munro. You’re McKittrick. You’re investigating the murder of that slime bag Brooks Munro.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then he’s responsible?”
Kit wanted to say that Munro couldn’t be responsible for Aylene’s murder, as he’d been dead for around a week. But that wasn’t what Tindall was asking.
She answered as best she could. “It’s related. I’d tell you more if I knew.” Mostly true. “Can I ask you a few questions? I know this is awful timing, but…”
“Of course,” Tindall murmured. “She was my baby. My only child.”
“I’m so sorry. Your daughter and son-in-law, did they seem happy together?”
He nodded. “Yes, they did. Pete treated her like a queen.”
That was interesting. Peter had said some awful things about his wife the night before. “Did your daughter work outside the home?”
“She worked from home, managing our family’s foundation. We give a substantial amount to charities around the city.”
Kit had read that in the news over the years. “So money wasn’t tight.”
Tindall shook his head. “No. She had a trust fund and minimal expenses. I paid for nearly everything so that she could do the charity work and Pete could teach school. They give back.”
Kit smiled sadly. “She sounds utterly wonderful.”
“She was,” Tindall whispered. “How am I going to tell the kids?”
“It’s not easy,” Kit said. “Not to tell and not to hear. I can give you the name of a good psychologist who specializes in childhood trauma due to crime. She’s helped my family.”
He lifted his eyes, so filled with pain and shock that they hurt Kit’s heart. “You lost someone?”
She couldn’t tell him about Rita, so she gave him the answer that anyone who’d read an article about Kit would already know. “My sister. We were fifteen. We never caught the guy who did it, but we will catch whoever killed your Aylene.”
“Thank you, Detective.” Duncan Tindall lowered his face to his hands and began to weep.