Chapter 3 #2
Trent noticed Alisha hesitate for a moment, but her curiosity got the better of her, and she stepped over the threshold. Trent closed the door.
“You were telling me how you got involved with this,” Alisha reminded him.
Trent nodded, and his eyes swept the apartment.
It looked more like a model than a home.
Every cushion was centered. Every frame aligned.
Mail was stacked in a perfect pile by date.
They walked further into the apartment and took in the open-plan kitchen.
Everything was neat. There was not a glass on the sink. The place shone.
“Lori thought that Trevor was cheating on her,” Trent continued as he pulled two pairs of latex gloves from his pocket and handed a pair to her, which they each snapped on and automatically fanned out to look around.
“She didn’t want to hire a PI, or she’d have to explain the payment to Trevor. So I helped her.”
“And was he cheating on her?” Alisha asked, carefully going through the mail.
“No.” Trent shook his head as he moved through the kitchen, opening cupboards and then the refrigerator. “Just bottled water.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand how some people live.”
“On take-out or dining out,” Alisha told him, putting the mail back exactly as she found it and staring at him. “What was Trevor up to?”
“He had just sold Delia Winters’ house to your father and found out it was not a legitimate sale,” Trent told her.
“He realized there were more deals like it. He started digging. He found forged filings. He found lease language hidden under sales language. He thought someone inside the county office was making it possible.”
Alisha drifted along the spotless counter and paused at the island. The marble had a shine that looked new. “So Trevor called you because he thought you were FBI.”
“Trevor trusted me even if I was FBI,” Trent said. “He also told me he was being watched. He did not know by whom. Trevor thought it might even be the FBI. He was afraid to go through official channels.”
“Is that why you took Ian and the information?” Alisha asked. “To keep it away from a system Trevor did not trust.”
“Yes,” Trent said. “And because I already knew Ian. I’ve been helping him since Trevor died.
” He ran a hand through his hair as his keen eyes raked the room.
“I was pulled onto the Stanstead case as soon as my work found out I had been looking into Dick Stanstead for Trevor Carlton.” He sighed and admitted.
“I’ve actually been working in the Key West office for nearly two years now. ”
Alisha turned, eyes steady and accusing. “So you were already here when you saved me. You hadn’t just landed in Key West like you said.”
“Actually, that part was true,” Trent told her. “I had just gotten back from Spain after having been deemed fit to travel again.”
Her eyes dropped to his side. “Your injury?”
Trent nodded. “I had a run-in with a rather mean gang in Spain that was not ready to give up their affiliation to the Stanstead syndicate, and I ended up with twenty stitches.” He pressed a palm lightly to his side and felt the dull tug.
Alisha’s gaze followed the path of his hand. “In that area,” she said quietly. “You’re lucky no major organs were touched. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“I wasn’t alive for a few seconds,” Trent admitted. He saw alarm move through her eyes and softened his voice. “But I’m back. I’m recovering.”
“So you really were on medical leave,” Alisha said.
“Sort of,” he answered. “Then the storm hit, and my mother called me about you. I decided it wasn’t the best time to take medical leave.”
“And you’re glad you were here,” Alisha guessed. “Because now you get to finish what Trevor and Ian started.”
“I am,” Trent said unapologetically. “My case just blew open, and I wasn’t going to let my nearly dying be in vain.”
Alisha glanced around the sterile room. “Why did you go to Spain? Was it tied to this case?”
“Not directly,” Trent said. “But to the head of the snake that is Dick Stanstead’s family, the Stanstead Syndicate that is now behind bars. The rest of their mob are being cleaned up.”
Alisha’s brows rose in disbelief. “You captured the Stanstead syndicate?”
“How do you know them?” Trent asked.
“I’ve consulted for the Bureau,” Alisha told him. “That family is one of the crime syndicates responsible for illegal firearms and drugs on our streets.”
“Now we just have to find Dick,” Trent said. Heat flared in his gut. “And his partner and we have them all.”
“Do you think Dick killed Katy?” Alisha asked quietly.
“I’m not sure,” Trent answered honestly. He had thought so, and so had Ian. “Katy’s diary reads like she loved him and he loved her. But that doesn’t rule out violence. It complicates the motive.”
“Wasn’t Dick much older than Katy?” Alisha asked. “He was her father’s age.”
“Love happens when it happens,” Trent said. “Age doesn’t erase it or make it wrong.”
Alisha nodded, contrite. “I was questioning, not judging.”
He moved past a glass console and took in the living area. Still, nothing out of place. The sofa cushions were centered and uncreased. The throw was folded in a strict line. On the bookshelf, the spines were arranged by size and color, not interest. “It doesn’t look like he left in a hurry.”
“No,” Alisha agreed, following his gaze.
“It looks like someone cleaned for a showing, not moving out in a hurry.” She turned and looked at him questioningly.
“Tell me more about Trevor. What was in the cache that he and Ian hid? You know the one you took when you did your Houdini trick and disappeared with Ian and the information.”
He laughed.
“Enough to bury Dick and his silent partner,” Trent replied. “But I can’t tell you more than that.”
“Understood.” Alisha held his gaze. “But why did you disappear with Ian? Where is he?”
“Safe,” Trent told her. “We found his wife and son at Detective Lawrence's house at the same time I found Katy’s diary.”
“Did you happen to break in there, too?” Alisha accused.
“Maybe,” Trent said, pulling a face.
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re working off book here?” Alisha shook her head.
“Because I am,” Trent said. “Because I’m not sure who to trust right now, as Ian seems to think the same thing Trevor did: they’re being watched by law enforcement.”
“But they are. You.” Alisha raised her eyebrows.
“I mean, beside me,” Trent told her. “For instance, who is behind Detective Lawrence?”
“Good point,” Alisha said, folding her arms. “Has anyone questioned him yet?”
“No,” Trent said, shaking his head. “I’ve been asked to go in this evening and do it.”
“So you’re breaking into his apartment and here to be prepared for your interrogation?” Alisha asked skeptically.
“Don’t you think it strange that not a thing is out of place?
” Trent asked. “Everything is far too clean. Yet the last picture that was time stamped the evening before Katy’s death, this place had sushi boxes, wine bottles, etc, in a picture that was sent to her parents.
” He glanced toward the kitchen. “Even the trash can is so clean you could eat out of it.”
Her eyes widened. “You think Dick is dead, too?”
Trent nodded. “Katy wrote it in the diary about Dick wanting to try and make things right for Ian, but he had to first get rid of his silent partner in the firm. Once he’d sorted out things for Ian and Lori, they were going to run off together to somewhere no one would find them.
” He shook his head. “Dick disappeared the same day Katy was found dead.”
“I don’t think we’re going to find anything here,” Alisha told him.
“I wanted to get here before we released the information to the cops so I could find anything before anyone else on the force that might take it and hide the evidence,” Trevor admitted to her.
“It’s the same reason Ian and I broke into Detective Lawerence’s house.
” He glanced around again. “Only it wasn’t as clean as this place. ”
“Why was Katy’s diary at Detective Lawrence’s place?” Alisha asked the same question that had been stuck in Trent’s mind.
“I guess I’ll find out this evening,” Trent told her and pointed toward the bedroom. “One last place to look.”
As they neared it Alisha stopped and put her ear to the door. “Do you hear that?” She looked at Trent who put his ear to the door and heard a hum. “It’s an air conditioner.”
“That's not uncommon in Florida,” Trent pointed out.
“Yes, but why is it on in the bedroom and none of the others are on in the apartment?” Alisha asked, her voice lowered.
Trent reached for his gun as his hand went to the door handle and he turned it, pushing the door open and stepping inside before her, gun raised, and stopped so abruptly Alisha ran into him. “That’s why.” He holstered his gun when he saw the man who was deathly pale on the bed.
“I take it that’s Dick Stanstead,” Alisha said.
Trent nodded and rushed forward, putting a hand to his neck to check for a pulse.
“The air conditioner is on full blast in here to stop his body from decaying too fast,” Alisha muttered.
“No, to freeze him to death, maybe,” Trent told her. “Dick’s still alive.”