Chapter Thirteen #2
She went into the conference room where her detectives had gathered.
While they waited for her, they’d updated the murder board with additional information, including photos of Ginny alive and dead, the garden tool they assumed was the murder weapon, a list of the people they’d talked to and others who’d been scammed.
“How did you order the list of her victims?” Sam asked.
“By dollar amount invested,” Jeannie said. “The ones at the top put in the most. The thought is to start with them and work our way down.”
“Tell me we aren’t going to have to talk to all of them.”
“Uhhh, well,” Jeannie said with a smile and a shrug.
“I hate this woman, and I hate this case,” Sam said. “If you were wondering.”
“We weren’t wondering,” Cameron said, smiling. “But thanks for confirming.”
“Of course even vile people deserve justice when their lives are taken,” Freddie said. “But sometimes it’s hard to feel bad for them when it seems like they had it coming.”
“Indeed,” Sam said, “but we will get justice for her, whether she deserves it or not. What’re we seeing in the financials?”
“Nothing that would lead you to believe that the woman had twenty million floating around,” Cameron said.
Detective Matt O’Brien, the newest member of their team, distributed a printed summary of the McLeods’ financials, which consisted of several brokerage accounts, bank accounts with several thousand in each and retirement funds.
“As you noted, we suspect the bulk of the funds were stashed in offshore accounts that haven’t been located. ”
A knock at the door sounded.
“Enter,” Sam called.
Patrolman Clare, whom Sam had met at the scene of Tara Weber’s murder, ducked his head into the room. “Pardon the interruption, Lieutenant, but per your request, we’ve put Ken McLeod in interview one.”
“Thank you, Officer Clare.”
“You should know he’s furious to have been detained and is screaming for a lawyer.”
“I assume you allowed him to make that call?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good work. Thank you.”
He nodded and left the room.
“So we’ve got another member of Ginny’s posse, who says he had nothing to do with the scam, screaming for a lawyer,” Sam said as a headache formed between her brows. “What do we make of that?”
“I want to dig deeper into his alibi,” Freddie said. “We’ve learned—recently—that alibis can be fabricated.” He referred to the Weber case, in which an airtight alibi had proven to be full of holes upon closer examination.
“Good point,” Sam said. “McBride and O’Brien, head out to the Potomac Country Club where McLeod said he played eighteen holes on Sunday and see if you can find people to confirm he was there the whole time.
Also, talk to the three people who were part of his foursome.
” Sam handed them the piece of paper from her pad where McLeod had reluctantly written down the names and numbers.
“Will do,” McBride said as she and O’Brien got up to leave the room.
“I want to talk to Dan and Toni Alino,” Sam said. “McLeod told us they were his and Ginny’s closest couple friends. Both of Dan’s parents have Alzheimer’s, and she took their money knowing that.”
“This woman gets more despicable with everything new I hear about her,” Cameron said.
“Agreed,” Sam said. “And then there are people like Lenore Worthington, still waiting fifteen years later for justice after her teenage son was gunned down in his own driveway. I’d much rather be taking another look at that case than dealing with this one.”
“Me, too,” Cam said. “Maybe after this one is closed?”
“That’s my hope. I’m waiting to hear from Malone that we’re authorized to revisit that investigation. In the meantime…”
“We have to figure out who killed Ginny McLeod,” Freddie said.
“Right,” Sam said. “Let’s go find the son, and we’ll start in the morning with the Alinos.”
Freddie glanced at the clock on the wall. “More likely to find the son at home than at work at this point, I’d imagine.”
Sam was surprised to see it was already five thirty. “Let’s give that a try.” Mandi had given them her brother’s addresses at home and work, as well as his phone number.
“What about Cheri and Ken?” Freddie asked.
“Are their lawyers here yet?”
“Let me check.” He left the room for a few minutes before returning, shaking his head.
“Then I guess they’re going to be our guests for the evening.”
“That ought to make them happy.”
Sam shrugged. “Not my problem. Have them escorted downstairs, and let them know we’ll speak to them after their attorneys arrive tomorrow.”
“I get to do all the fun stuff around here,” Freddie muttered as he went to see to her instructions.
Keeping Cheri and Ken on ice for the night filled Sam with a perverse feeling of pleasure, since they’d both been so agreeable to begin with.
When Freddie returned to the pit fifteen minutes later, he looked frazzled. “Pleasant folks.”
“I take it they’re not happy to be the guests of the District for the night?”
“You’d be correct, but as I mentioned to them, once they ask for an attorney, we have no choice but to wait for the attorney to arrive, and since our shift is ending…”
“What can we do? We can’t force the lawyers to come in after hours.”
“Exactly.”
“Let’s go to Arlington.” Rush-hour traffic out of the District would be hideous.
“Traffic is gonna suck.”
“You read my mind.”
As they went outside, Sam took note of the black SUV with the dark windows parked behind her car, making it so she couldn’t leave unless the SUV moved.
She walked around the SUV and unlocked her car.
“Mrs. Cappuano—”
Spinning around, she confronted the two agents, one of them an older Black man wearing a sharp suit and dark sunglasses, the other young, blond and fresh-faced. “It’s Lieutenant Holland, and here’s how this is gonna work. You’re going to stay out of my way, and don’t talk to me. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the younger agent said. “Lieutenant, ma’am.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” the older agent said with a sarcastically polite tone that Sam respected. “I’m Vernon, and this is Jimmy. It’s our pleasure to offer you protection.”
“Fuck me to tears,” she whispered as she got into her car, started it and began backing up, giving them seconds to move the SUV before she hit it.