Chapter Twenty
San Diego, California
Saturday, January 14, 5:00 p.m.
Sam was not okay.
Kit studied him in the hospital’s elevator, just as she had all through today and the day before as they’d done endless debriefings and finally a press conference. They’d sat for hours with Navarro, the San Diego sheriff, and the SDPD brass, who’d talked and talked and talked.
Sam had replied every time he’d been spoken to. He’d been articulate and composed. But Kit had known him long enough and well enough to know that Sam Reeves was not okay.
She’d found him staring at his hands, his gaze unfocused as conversation had gone on around him, and she’d known where his mind had gone. To that moment he’d pulled the trigger.
For me.
Killing someone was a trauma. Even a bastard like Peter Shoemaker, who’d deserved a bullet to the head and so much more.
It was traumatic for the cop. Or, in this case, the police psychologist.
He’d done it to save Kit. Knowing this made her want to turn back time and tell him not to shoot. That she’d do it. That Navarro would do it.
That even Connor would do it.
Because they’d all shot Shoemaker there in the woods. Kit had dived for her gun as soon as Shoemaker had gone down after Connor’s first shot had hit the bastard’s hip. She’d seen Shoemaker aim for her again and she’d shot without even thinking.
Navarro had shot him with his rifle—and that was the shot that had blown Shoemaker’s head apart like a smashed melon.
Connor had even managed to fire again, hitting Shoemaker in the chest. Connor had lost consciousness right after that, and Kit was so glad he was going to be okay. They’d gotten him to the medical center in Julian just in time to be airlifted to the hospital in San Diego with a level one trauma unit.
That Connor had needed a level one trauma unit still freaked Kit out. But Connor was out of the woods. He’d be okay.
Kit glanced up at Sam as they exited the elevator in the ICU ward. He was pale and seemed shaken. She reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze. “You with me, Sam?”
He looked down at their joined hands, then met her eyes. “Yeah. I’m with you.” His hand tightened around hers, just enough that she couldn’t let hers drop away.
Which she’d been about to. But he needed her and she wasn’t going to let him down.
“He looked pretty good when I was here last night,” Kit said, speaking of Connor. “CeCe was with him, and his parents, too.”
The nurses had made an exception to the two-visitor rule.
“I know,” Sam said. “I was here yesterday, too. After they were done grilling me.”
After he’d finally been released with the knowledge that he wouldn’t face any legal consequences from his actions. He’d been prepared to do so, had that been the case, and had said several times that he had no regrets about pulling that trigger.
But he was a civilian, not a cop, and Kit had been unsure what the repercussions of Sam’s part in Shoemaker’s death would be. So far, they’d kept it from the press. The SDPD had said that they would not be releasing any statement about his involvement and they suggested he not as well.
Sam had been good with that. He hadn’t fired that shot to get attention. Despite his Clark Kent glasses, he had no desire to be a Superman.
Even though he really was.
Kit paused at the doorway to Connor’s room, poking her head in. “Hey,” she said quietly.
Susan Robinson came to her feet with a smile on her face. “Kit. And Sam. I’m so glad to see you.”
The woman enfolded Kit in a hug, which Kit was expecting, as she’d gotten a similar hug the night before. Kit patted Susan’s back awkwardly, but it was worth it because Sam’s lips were twitching.
He knew hugs were difficult for her.
Finally, Susan let her go, grabbing Kit’s hands in an extension of the hug. “You saved my son’s life.”
Kit almost hadn’t. It had been close. But she’d done her best to get him to help as soon as she’d been able to. “He saved mine, too.”
“Let her go, Mom,” Connor said from the bed. “We talked about this.”
“Pssh,” Susan said, waving her son’s objections away, but she let Kit go and turned to Sam.
Leaving Sam in Susan’s capable hands, Kit turned to Connor. “You look better.”
“I am better. They’re going to let me go to a regular room tomorrow.”
“Good.” Kit moved closer, examining his face more closely. His eyes were brighter, his skin less sallow. “Thank you,” she murmured.
That night in the woods, he’d dragged himself to a sitting position in the car’s back seat, and Kit couldn’t imagine how he’d managed it. And then he’d fired at Shoemaker. Twice. He’d get a medal for this. Kit wouldn’t rest until she made that happen.
“You should’ve left me,” he said, his tone logical. “Glad you didn’t, though. Not sure when I’ll be back at work.”
“Navarro’s giving me a temporary partner. I made sure he knew it was temporary . I want you back.”
Connor’s grin brightened his whole face. “Yes! I finally replaced Baz the Magnificent.”
Kit snorted, even though she felt a little bad for making Connor feel like he’d had to earn his place with her. “Baz is not magnificent. And you didn’t replace him. Nobody could. But I do kinda like having you around.”
“Aw.” Connor faked wiping a tear from his eye. “I’m overwhelmed by your deluge of love.”
“I’d hit you if I could,” Kit said dryly. “Where’s CeCe?”
“I made her go home to get some rest. She was beat. Dad drove her home. You just missed them. So tell me everything. Mom won’t let me watch the news.”
“Because it’s all awful,” Susan said, taking the chair next to Connor’s bedside. “That horrible Tamsin Kavanaugh is getting so much screen time, doing interviews, talking about her ‘time with Brooks Munro,’ like it was some kind of fated love story.”
“I saw that interview,” Sam said, standing next to Kit. “It really was awful.”
“Tamsin Fucking Kavanaugh,” Kit muttered darkly.
Connor chuckled, then winced. He had a broken rib and his lung had collapsed from the blow of the bullet. But the vest had saved his life. Kit’s belt had done the same with his leg, the tourniquet holding back most of the flow until they’d gotten him to the medical center in Julian.
“Did you find the Ferrari?” Connor asked.
“We did,” Kit said.
She and Sam had rejoined Navarro back at the scene after seeing Connor off in the medevac. They’d discovered many gruesome things that Kit was still mentally processing. Shoemaker had kept fingers and toes and other body parts in jars in that little cabin. “The Ferrari was in a large shed behind that ratty cabin. The shed even had lighting—floodlights mounted on the ceiling that were powered by a generator. When the switch was flipped, they all came on and illuminated the Ferrari like it was a museum piece.”
“A souvenir,” Sam said. “He kept Munro’s Rolex, too.”
“What about the gold bracelet Veronica left in the glove box?” Connor asked.
“It was there, too,” Kit said. “CSU found it. The bracelet was just one item in a bunch of jewelry she was arrested for stealing. Bruce Goddard found out that it had been stolen twenty years ago from a dead woman’s jewelry box in Tulsa. The rest of the jewelry was recovered in pawn shops at the time. We think Veronica and Munro used the money to finance their new start in San Diego.”
Connor frowned. “And the girl? The one you said was in the cabin?”
“Daniella,” Sam said. “She’s here, in this hospital. We’re going to see her after we’re done with you.”
“Why was she there?”
Kit grimaced. “Shoemaker’s daughter wasn’t enough for him, so he apparently picked up homeless teenagers off the street.”
And had been doing so for a very long time.
“Three of Daniella’s friends ended up at New Horizons,” Sam said. “They were instrumental in my figuring out that Neckbeard was Shoemaker. One of the girls—Amy—saw him itching the inside of his wrist, then pulling down his sleeve. I’d seen Shoemaker do that after you two had interviewed him at SDPD. Turns out he was the director of the drama program at the school where he taught. He was apparently good at doing different voices.”
“And looking shocked when told his wife was dead,” Kit added.
Connor sighed. “He sure fooled me. I never questioned that he’d come straight from court on Thursday afternoon. How did he manage to kill Bert Ramsey’s wife? Didn’t he have a tail?”
Kit scowled. “His lawyer lost the tail after he picked Shoemaker up from court an hour and a half earlier. The lawyer claims he was just pissed at the SDPD and wanted their eyes off his client. He seemed shocked to learn that Shoemaker was a killer. And all the other things. The lawyer is being investigated, and the cops that didn’t report that they’d lost Shoemaker are being disciplined.”
“As they should be. That lawyer could have had a hand in killing us both. He needs to be disciplined and so do those two cops.” Connor hesitated. “Is the girl—Daniella—okay?”
“She will be,” Kit said. “Eventually.” We hope. “Shoemaker was…brutal with her.”
“God,” Connor breathed. “I’m glad we killed him.”
Susan exhaled carefully. “Me too.”
“Same,” Kit said. “Because there were…more. More bodies.”
Sam leaned his shoulder into Kit’s, a show of support. “Daniella said he bragged about how many girls he’d taken and showed her where she’d end up,” he said. “There are a lot of graves behind that cabin.”
Connor sagged back into the pillow, closing his eyes. “And he was an assistant principal. Working with children.”
“I know,” Kit said. “But he’s not anymore.”
“Good,” Susan said fiercely. “That poor girl. What will happen to her?”
“She’s only thirteen,” Kit said. “A runaway. No father, mother is an addict.” It was, unfortunately, all too common a story. “She’ll go into the system.”
Susan’s jaw tightened. She said nothing, but Kit could see the woman’s mental wheels turning.
“Talk to my father if you’re interested in fostering,” Kit said. “Mom and Pop have been doing it for years. They’d take Daniella, but they’re truly filled up. Six is the state limit.”
Connor had been looking at his mother, but now turned back to Kit. “Six? I thought they only had Rita, Tiffany, and Emma.”
“Now they have Dawn, Amy, and Stephie,” Sam said, a true smile curving his lips. “They were the girls who were living on the street with Daniella. Her not returning after getting into Shoemaker’s Suburban was what prompted them to seek shelter at New Horizons. Emma championed them to Harlan, and he and Betsy couldn’t say no.”
“Not that they ever would,” Kit said fondly. “I found Pop cleaning out a storage room last night. He said he had to have somewhere for his ‘grown-up kids’ to stay when they came home. That’s me and Akiko, mainly, but others come home to visit from time to time.”
“Those girls will need things,” Susan said. “Clothes and school supplies.”
“The state gives foster parents a stipend, and Mom and Pop have money set aside. A lot of us former fosters give them cash every month for the new kids, and that helps. But if you also want to help, by all means let them know.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Susan promised. “About many things.”
Kit smiled at her. “Thank you.”
“How’s Rita?” Connor asked. “Is she okay now that Christopher Drummond is going to be charged with her assault?”
Sam’s smile grew bigger. “I think she’s watched that video I took of Kit knocking Drummond on his ass about sixty million times.”
“Sam is her knight in shining armor,” Kit said, only half teasing.
“And you are her idol,” Sam added. “I’m always stunned that you can take down men twice your weight.”
“You are nowhere close to twice my weight,” Kit said, remembering taking Sam to the floor of his condo the night they’d met. “Connor, on the other hand, weighs a freaking metric ton, even if he says he’s only one eighty-five.”
“I’m dense,” Connor said, then grimaced when Kit started laughing. “You’re not allowed to laugh. I’m hurt. I saved your life .”
“Yeah, well. I thanked you for saving my life. I’m not going to do that again.”
But she would, and Connor’s little smile told her that he knew that, too.
“Did you get confirmation about what Drummond wanted to trade for a deal?” Connor asked. “Was it the country club blackmail scheme or did he know something more?”
Kit shrugged. “His attorney told Joel that they had nothing more to offer, so we’re assuming it was the blackmail. Drummond has finally shut his damn mouth.”
Connor’s scowl was impressive. “We wanted to shut it for him permanently after he ambushed you in the parking lot, but that would have meant paperwork. What about Munro’s money? Did you ever find his stash?”
Kit rolled her eyes at that question. “Yeah, we did.”
Connor’s brows lifted. “Why do you sound like that?”
“Because I’m embarrassed. You will be, too. Wilhelmina took it. She found it before we got to Munro’s house the night we did the notification.”
Connor’s mouth fell open. “Wilhelmina? What the fuck?” He winced. “Sorry, Mom.”
“It’s okay,” Susan said, looking equally shocked. “Wilhelmina stole from Brooks Munro? What the fuck?”
Connor choked and his mother just patted his hand.
“CSU did a scan of Munro’s floor and found a very well-concealed safe under the hardwood floorboards. Remember we thought it didn’t look like Veronica had searched his home office? She confirmed that she’d left it a mess when I talked to her yesterday. However, when Wilhelmina was cleaning up the mess, she found the lever that popped up a board, revealing the safe. The combination was Veronica’s birthday. So Wilhelmina more than ‘suspected’ that Munro and Veronica were intimately involved when she talked to us that first night. She outright knew they’d been having an affair for years. We think she guessed that Munro would choose a combination that was related to Veronica.”
“But why?” Susan asked. “Were her millions not enough?”
Kit shook her head. “She doesn’t have millions. Not anymore. Wilhelmina’s lawyer for the family trust fought hard for a few days to keep from sharing her financial statements, but Marshall and Ashton were finally able to get the warrant. Remember the little sculpture in Wilhelmina’s rental condo? The one you thought was worth twenty-five grand?”
“Yes,” Connor said. “And was I right?”
“About that, yeah. But remember how I contacted the condo’s owner to ask about it when we were driving back to the station after talking to Wilhelmina, and I had to leave a message? The owner finally called me back, but I wasn’t in the office, so the call was routed to Kevin Marshall. Turns out, the sculpture did not belong to the condo owner. He said he’d seen it in Munro’s house when he’d visited Wilhelmina there. She’d told him that her husband had bought the sculpture, that it was Munro’s.”
“So, that she’d taken property from the house was cause for suspicion,” Connor said slowly.
Kit nodded. “Exactly. The theft, plus the fact that she’d lived with a blackmailer, indicated that she might have had motive to kill Munro as well, but it was the theft that tipped the scales in our favor. Marshall and Ashton got the financial report right about the same time that you were getting shot. Turns out that Wilhelmina’s dead broke.”
“What?” Susan gasped.
Kit nodded. “Looks like Munro took a lot of Wilhelmina’s money and some bad investments ate the rest. So we got a warrant for the condo she’s renting and we hit the jackpot. Seems Wilhelmina had stolen a fair amount of the artwork he’d owned, mostly items that were small enough to transport in the trunk of her rental car. She’d already filled it up before we arrived last Saturday night.”
“How much did she get from Munro’s safe?” Connor asked.
“Over six million dollars, all in fifties, all nonsequential,” Kit said. “Munro apparently didn’t believe in banks, on or offshore. Wilhelmina had it packed in suitcases when we arrived at the condo with our warrant. You remember when I pointed out that fifty on the floor in her rental?”
“She said she’d given it to Rafferty for groceries.”
“She lied. That was part of the haul. She and Rafferty had been counting the cash when we knocked on her door.”
“Wow.” Connor shook his head. “I guess she can argue that the artwork was jointly hers since they were married. Or she thought they were.”
“Well, Laura Letterman isn’t letting Wilhelmina get away with anything. She’s filed on behalf of Veronica to get it all back. But neither of them will get to keep any of it. It’s all going to go into a victims’ fund. Not everyone Munro victimized were people who had done blackmail-worthy things. Some were people he’d forced to donate to his campaign in exchange for meetings with him.”
“What an asshole,” Susan said, and Connor choked again.
“Mom.”
Susan just patted his hand. Her smile was bright, but it seemed fragile. Brittle even. Seeing her son nearly die had shaken her, understandably. She wasn’t okay, either. But she would be.
“What about the hit man?” Connor asked. “The real one, not the undercover cop.”
“He’s gone,” Kit said. “He crossed the border into Mexico about a week before Munro was killed. For now, he’s in the wind. But we did find Veronica’s bank account. Walter Grossman’s, too. Both in the Caymans. But most of their money was in a safe in Veronica’s house there. Veronica kept an accounting of the cash she collected from victims and doled out to Munro, and he in turn to Grossman. Her having an affair with Grossman meant Veronica was sharing the numbers, so he knew exactly what he was owed. For what it was worth, the three seemed to be honest with each other.”
“How nice,” Connor said sarcastically.
Kit grinned. “The ledger she kept was in her safe, along with the cash. The police in George Town had to get a warrant to search and then find a safe cracker. They just let us know about that money two days ago, but everything was out of control and Navarro didn’t see the message until yesterday.” She paused, going through the list of debrief items in her mind. “Oh. We checked the guard shack’s security feed and found a motorcyclist driving out of Munro’s community early Wednesday morning, then back on Wednesday afternoon. The times lined up with when Shoemaker’s school was in session. We figure he used the trailer to transport both the Ferrari and the motorcycle out of Munro’s neighborhood. The guard noted the motorcycle’s reentry in his logbook on Wednesday afternoon, said the guy claimed to be with Norton Landscaping and had come to help his partner clean up after he’d been working all day.” She sighed. “After the guard had seen him at least twice that day, I guess Shoemaker figured he was a major loose end.”
“And Munro’s list?” Connor asked quietly.
“Haven’t found it yet,” Kit said with a frustrated sigh. “CSU has searched the Suburban, that horrible cabin, and some of Shoemaker’s house. The house will take longer to search because it’s so immense, so we still might find it.”
“Could he have buried it outside the cabin?” Connor asked.
“We thought that, so we got a team out there with ground-penetrating radar to check, but there were no buried boxes or anything like that.”
Just eighteen graves.
Eighteen girls.
Alicia Batra and the other MEs had a busy time ahead of them, identifying the remains. They had no idea exactly how long Shoemaker had been killing girls, but it had been years based on the condition of the corpses. Kit had already promised that she’d help connect physical descriptions to missing persons. They’d probably been homeless teens. Girls that no one was searching for.
At least we found Wren’s body. There had been some closure there. But seeing all the corpses had rattled Kit to her core. That could have been me. I could have been one of those girls on the street, trying to survive. Had it not been for Harlan and Betsy…
Sam grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze. “Hey,” he murmured, like he knew where her mind had gone.
He probably did. He’d been there at Kit’s side when the team with the GPR had discovered the first body, and he and Kit had waited until all the graves had been located.
It had only seemed right.
“We should probably be going,” Sam said. “We’ll let you rest and come back tomorrow, okay?”
Connor was watching Kit carefully. “How many, Kit? How many graves did the GPR team find when they were looking for the list?”
“Eighteen,” she whispered.
Connor’s exhale was heavy and sad. “I’m sorry we couldn’t save them.”
“You saved Daniella,” Sam said. “And Dawn and Amy and Stephie. They won’t be on the street because of you two.”
“And you too, Sam,” Connor said. “I think I need to rest now. Get out of here.” But it was said with affection.
Kit gripped Connor’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“You said you weren’t going to say that again, but I knew you would,” he boasted.
To make her smile, Kit knew. And it worked. Kind of.
Kit pointed two fingers at her eyes, then at Connor. “Tomorrow. I’ll be back. And when you’re back to snuff, I’m not pulling my punches.”
“Bring it,” Connor called as they left his room.
Kit’s shoulders sagged when they were out in the hall again. “And thank you, Sam.”
He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek, the tender gesture squeezing her heart too hard. “For what?” he whispered.
She pursed her lips, her eyes welling with tears she didn’t understand. “For…everything, I guess.” She wiped at her eyes angrily. “I have no idea why I’m doing this. I don’t cry.”
“It’s leftover emotion,” Sam said, “and very normal. You carry a lot on your shoulders. Sometimes a valve has to be opened so some of that pressure can escape. Tears are good.”
“Let’s go see Daniella.” She straightened her spine and forced herself out of her comfort zone. For Sam. “Mom’s making pot roast tonight. Wanna come to dinner?”
He smiled and she knew she’d made the right move. “As long as I can stop and get Siggy. He’s been locked in his crate a lot this week.”
“Of course Siggy is welcome. The girls will love him and he can play with Snickerdoodle and Petunia.”
“Petunia? Who’s—” Sam blinked. “Wait, that new monster dog is named Petunia ?”
Kit laughed, glad the tears seemed to be gone. “Yep. Even though he’s a male dog. The girls said they shouldn’t be ‘constrained by gender norms.’?”
“Okay, but… Petunia ? He’s immense.”
“Gonna get immenser,” Kit muttered. “He got into Mom’s flower garden and came running up to the girls with a mouthful of winter pansies. Mom wanted to be mad, but the dog was too cute with a bouquet of flowers sticking out of his mouth.” She smiled, affection for the teenagers warming her chest. “I figured they’d name him Pansy, but the girls thought the flowers were petunias at first and the name stuck.” She fished her phone from her pocket and showed Sam the photo her mother had texted.
The giant dog stared up with soulful eyes and a mouthful of purple blossoms.
Sam laughed, such a sweet, welcome sound. “Oh my God, that’s hilarious.”
“It really is. Luckily pansies aren’t toxic to dogs, so the big doofus is just fine. The girls—” Kit stopped when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Caller ID listed Susan Robinson. “Susan? Is Connor okay?”
“It’s me,” Connor said. “My mother was laughing about me calling myself dense and I told her that I worked out and CeCe liked my dense muscles.”
“He’s okay,” she told Sam. “Connor, what do your dense muscles have to do with me?”
“Because I get them at the gym ,” Connor said. “See if Peter Shoemaker uses a gym. See if he uses my gym . Veronica had their victims leave thousands of dollars in cash in a gym locker. Maybe that’s where Shoemaker put the list.”
“Hey, it’s worth a try. I’ll do that right now.” She ended the call and dialed Navarro. “Can we find out where Shoemaker went to the gym?” she asked, bypassing greeting him when he answered.
Sam’s expression showed instant understanding. Kit liked that about him.
“The list,” Navarro breathed. “I’ll get on that now. I’ll call you when I have a warrant.”
“Thank you,” Kit said, ending the call. She smiled up at Sam. “Let’s see Daniella and hopefully we can eat some pot roast before we search.”
The Beachside Athletic Club, San Diego, California
Saturday, January 14, 9:15 p.m.
They did, in fact, have time for Betsy’s pot roast before Sam and Kit headed over to the gym where Shoemaker worked out. The mood at McKittrick House had been boisterously happy and slightly chaotic, with six teenage girls and three dogs running around.
The newest girls were happy and they’d all given Sam big smiles. That had done some good for his soul. He’d killed a man, yes, but he’d helped these girls to get off the streets and into one of the best homes possible.
It was balance, and Sam appreciated that.
Harlan had pressed something into Sam’s hand as they were walking out the door—a carving of Sam on a horse, wearing armor and holding a sword. It was a thank-you for Sam’s part in saving Kit’s life and currently rested in Sam’s pants pocket.
Kit had her good-luck charm—the cat-bird figurine. Now Sam had one as well.
The nice family evening complete, he and Kit were back at work. But this might be one of those balance things again. The awful things Sam had seen balanced by the triumph of truly solving the case.
It had taken a few phone calls for Navarro to figure out where the man had a membership, and it turned out that Shoemaker had had three. Two were gyms he’d joined in the last week.
No shock there. Shoemaker would have needed access to all the places where Munro had done business with his blackmail victims. Navarro had gotten warrants for all of them.
But they’d started out at the gym where he’d had his membership the longest. It was the same athletic club where Connor played squash.
“It would be nice to find it at the first place we looked,” Kit said.
Sam shook his head as they passed by the gym’s front desk, heading for the locker room. “Except this isn’t the first place you’ve looked. You’ve searched his house, his office at school, his in-laws’ house, all his vehicles, and that cabin.”
“True. I honestly thought he’d have hidden Munro’s three-ring binder in the Ferrari. It’s where I would have put it. Oh good. Navarro’s here. Let’s do this.” She and Sam followed Navarro into the locker room, where a uniformed officer stood guard by one of the lockers.
“I figured you two should be here when we opened it,” Navarro said. “Connor should be here too, but we can show him the video.” He pointed to CSU’s Sergeant Ryland, who held a camera. “Ryland’s going to video the whole thing as evidence.”
“It’s like Al Capone’s vault,” Kit said. “Except hopefully this one isn’t empty.”
“Hush,” Navarro said seriously. “Don’t jinx it.”
Kit mimed zipping her lips closed. “Do you have a key?”
Ryland produced a set of bolt cutters. “You want to do the honors, Lieutenant?”
“Sure would.” Navarro cut off the lock, then stood back. “Kit?”
She pulled on a pair of disposable gloves. “My heart’s racing.”
But she was exhilarated. Sam could see it in her pretty blue eyes.
She drew a deep breath and pulled open the locker, Ryland standing behind her so that he could capture the whole thing on video. “Wow,” Kit said, staring into the locker. “He actually worked out here?”
Because it was filled with stinky shoes and exercise clothes.
Kit began removing them, placing each into evidence bags as she verbally cataloged each item for the recording. “More shoes, more shorts,” she muttered. “A tennis racquet, a racquetball racquet, and…what is this?”
“That, Kit,” Sam said, “is a squash racquet.”
She gave him an indecipherable look before returning to the locker. “Some very smelly socks and…gross, a jockstrap.” Then she made a sound of satisfaction. “One gym bag.” She set it in an evidence box and unzipped it. Then reached in and pulled out a three-ring binder. “Bingo.”
Navarro came to stand on her left as she opened the binder. Sam stood on her right and held his breath.
“Oh my God,” Sam whispered as he scanned the first page. “Ronald Tasker said they were movers and shakers, but…oh my God.”
“Indeed,” Navarro murmured. “Shit. This is going to cause big waves downtown. There are politicians, CEOs…” He grimaced. “A few cops, even.”
Munro had been quite organized. There was a column for the name of his victim, the date on which the crime—or crimes—was committed, the nature of the crime, the date the blackmail began, and the amount of the payment.
Kit flipped through the pages, her eyes wide. “There are more than sixty names on this list. And only a few have lines drawn through them.”
One was Hugh Smith, the man who’d outed his fellow blackmailees. Another was Earl O’Hanlon, the man who’d committed suicide after Munro had drained him dry. Another was Trisha Finnegan, the woman who’d informed Munro that she was no longer going to pay him after her ex-husband had discovered her indiscretion.
“Drummond,” Kit said, reading the man’s name with satisfaction. “He was paying twenty thousand a month.” Because Rita’s mother wasn’t the first woman he’d killed. Munro was blackmailing Drummond for the murder of the housekeeper he’d hired before Maria Mendoza. “He was probably hoping Joel would give him transactional immunity if the list became public.”
“There’s Shoemaker,” Sam said and Kit paused in her page turning. “He’d been paying Munro for more than four years.”
“Incest, kidnapping, sexual assault, and sexual battery,” Kit read. “Munro knew that Shoemaker was kidnapping and raping girls, that he was raping his own daughter, and he didn’t report him. He profited from it.”
I’m so glad he’s dead. That they’re both dead. Sam would remember the words on that page the next time he felt the tiniest bit guilty for his part in killing Peter Shoemaker. That man deserved to die. Sam only wished he’d suffered more.
“It also appears,” Kit went on, “that Shoemaker was paying Munro more than anyone else on this list. His payment was fifty grand a month. That’s how much Munro took out of his bank account the day he disappeared, because Shoemaker demanded it from him.”
That left Sam a little breathless. “Fifty thousand dollars a month for four years…” He quickly did the math. “That’s two million, four hundred thousand dollars.”
Kit turned to meet Sam’s gaze. “I’d feel like Munro owed me a Ferrari, too.” She closed the binder and dropped it into a large plastic evidence bag. “I think my brain has enough to process tonight and I feel like I need a million showers. I didn’t want to know that so many people in this city were this evil. Is it okay if I go home now, boss?”
Navarro’s smile was gentle. “Of course. You and I can go over this list on Monday. I imagine Joel Haley and his boss will want to be involved.”
Kit pulled off the disposable gloves and dropped them in another evidence bag, just in case there was any trace evidence transferred from the locker’s contents to her gloves.
“Come on,” Sam said. “I’ll drive you home now.”
She and Sam were quiet until they were back in Sam’s RAV4. “Just…give it to me straight, Sam.”
He fastened his seat belt and looked over at her. “What?”
“Do you play squash?”
He laughed. “And if I do?”
She sighed, long and loud. “Then I guess I’ll have to stop giving Connor a hard time for being a snobby squash player. Do you?”
He laughed again. “Twice a month since summer. Sometimes Connor and I bowl, too.”
“Connor told me about the bowling a while back. Are you any good?”
“At squash? Not awful. Not in Connor’s league, but I can hold my own. Why? You want to play with me?”
She lifted one brow. “Are you flirting with me right now?”
“Depends. Is it working?”
She smiled at him then, a sweet, shy smile that made him warm all over. “Yeah. It is. We had a date tonight, but we missed it.”
“We’ve been a little busy. I figured we’d go next week.”
“Or tomorrow night.”
Sam reached over, trailing a fingertip over her cheek. “Tomorrow night.”
“Your place. I don’t want to go to a noisy restaurant, and Mom and Pop’s is going to be crazy for a while.”
“You want me to cook on our date?”
“No. I’ll bring the food. I won’t cook it either, so you’re safe.”
He swiped nonexistent sweat from his forehead. “You had me worried there for a minute.”
Still smiling, she shook her head. “Take me back to Mom and Pop’s, please. I need to help with the new girls.”