Chapter 34
After talking to the sketch artist—the woman is good so I’m hopeful they’ll figure out who the guy at Hannah’s is—I decide to head back to my condo.
I don’t have the energy to drive to the pool house this late and the girls aren’t there anyway.
Maybe I’ll change my mind later, but I need to regroup.
On the drive, I call Fiona, wondering if she’ll even answer, but she picks up almost immediately.
“Hey, Aunt Sloane, how are things?”
“We have leads.” That’s all I can really tell her. “For real,” I add.
She shoves out a sigh. “Okay, thank you.”
“How are you and your sisters? Not giving your grandmother a hard time?”
She snorts. “Are you kidding me? She’s been feeding us nothing but hot chocolate and baked goods. The girls need it.”
I can practically hear her shrug and I think she needs it too even if she’ll never admit it. “You’ve got a good grandma.”
“I know. Of course I know, I just… I want to be home.” There’s a heavy note of sadness in her voice and I want to hug her tight.
“Soon. And in case I don’t tell you enough, I love you.”
“Love you too.”
After we get off the phone, I check in with Alex and then finally make it to my place. I need food. Maybe a quick shower. And to get the elusive Marcus Chesky to talk to me.
One thing at a time.
I pull under the covered parking and throw the BMW in park, ready to grab my stuff, then the passenger door flies open and the man from Hannah’s place slides in.
And he’s holding a gun.
I stare at it more than him, hating the feeling of another asshole pointing a deadly weapon at me. I can’t control the way my heart rate kicks up.
“Why were you at Hannah’s condo?” he demands, his voice deeper than I expect.
He’s youngish, in his twenties, I guess, with artsy-looking tattoos on his wrists. I didn’t notice them before because he was too far away and his hands were in his pockets anyway. But he’s about the same age as Hannah. Maybe a bit older but yeah, still in his twenties.
I make a note of his tattoos. “I need to talk to her.”
His jaw tightens and for a moment I think he’s going to hit me.
But he pulls in a deep breath. “I saw you talking to the cops. But you’re not a cop, that much I can tell.
” He looks around the plush interior of the vehicle, sees some kids’ stuff in the back seat, pauses.
And maybe looks like he feels a little bad, but he doesn’t move the gun out of my face. “So who are you?”
At this point I can’t think of a reason not to tell the truth. “My name is Sloane. Hannah worked for my sister, Cara Alexander. She was murdered last week. I don’t think Hannah is involved.” I’m lying now. “But I think she might have given her boyfriend an alibi.” Now I’m back to the truth.
“Boyfriend?”
“I don’t know what to call him. A married man she’s sleeping with.”
His eyes narrow, but then he looks lost in thought. Still holding that gun like a pro though. “I’m sorry about your sister,” he finally says, surprising me. “I saw about it on the news.”
I clear my throat. “Are you friends with Hannah? Do you know where she is?”
“I don’t know where she is,” he says, ignoring the first part. “And I don’t know that I believe you were just at her place looking to talk to her.”
“Well it’s the truth. When I got there, her door was slightly cracked open.
Like someone had left in a hurry and didn’t pull it closed.
I thought something might be wrong so I called out and went inside.
I was only there maybe five minutes before you showed up.
And I know you saw the kitchen. Something is wrong. ”
He nods at that. Then his gaze sharpens on me. “You’re not a cop…so why are you looking into this?”
I give him my best are you kidding me look. “My sister was murdered while I was talking to her on the phone.”
He blinks, but still doesn’t seem convinced.
“I’m going to pull my card out of my pocket, okay?” I hold my palms up in a please don’t shoot way, really hoping he’s not trigger happy.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my little card holder that Fallon had made specially for me.
I pop the silver cover open and struggle to pull one out because they’re packed so tight.
They pop out like confetti. On instinct, he reaches out to stop the waterfall of business cards and I move quickly, reaching for a couple of them.
“Sorry about that.” I grab some that land in his seat.
“Hey, sit back.” He’s still holding his gun, but it’s lowered now at least. He picks up a card, inspects it for a second then tucks it into one of his pockets. “You’re a pilot.”
“That’s what my card says… Can you maybe put your gun away? It’s making me nervous.”
“It’s supposed to.” He raises it again. “If I find out you’re lying—”
“About what? My sister’s murder?” I snap, the tether on my rage breaking free. “Or the fact that I’m trying to figure out what happened? Because it’s the truth, and if you had anything to do with it—”
“Jesus, lady. I’m the one holding the gun.”
“Yeah, in a parking lot full of cameras.” But it’s raining and dark outside, making it impossible to see inside. Not to mention we’re under a cover right now.
He doesn’t call me out on it. Instead he tucks his gun away. “I’m just trying to find Hannah, that’s all.”
“You and me both. If I find her, I’ll call you,” I say, lying through my teeth. “I just need your name and number.”
“Nice try.” He snorts and leaves as quickly as he arrived.
As soon as the door shuts behind him, I lock them (even if the glass won’t stop a bullet) and call Alex. “You want to help me track down an asshole who just pulled a gun on me?”
“Why is this becoming a thing with you?”
I’m already pulling up the app on my phone.
“I used the business card holder distraction.” Fallon gave all of us a shiny business card holder packed full of cards we used in certain situations.
It’s a redirect and doesn’t always work, but when it does, like now, it’s gold.
I managed to slip a small tracker in his jacket pocket when I pretended to reach for the cards.
“He’s on the move. And so am I. You got a location on me? ”
“Yep. I’m at home, but heading out now.” I can hear her garage door opening.
I monitor the tracker instead of following close behind him. Not that I’m worried about him noticing me in the rain, but still. This asshole pulled a gun on me and I’m really, really getting tired of that. I just hope he doesn’t realize I put a tracker on him. “I talked to Garcia today.”
“I know. Foxe told me,” she adds, in case I didn’t figure it out.
“I just told her.” Not even an hour ago. At this point I’ve lost track of any semblance of time.
“I know. We have a deal where we’re keeping each other updated on anything you tell us.”
“I don’t know if I like that.”
She just snickers. “Ask me how much I care?”
“You’re mean… Huh, he’s heading toward the suburbs.”
“Interesting.”
“That’s one word for it.” I’m going to figure out who this guy is to Hannah and if he was involved in Cara’s murder.
***
“I like this better than your Corolla,” Alex says as she shuts the car door behind her. “Toasty.”
I’ve got the dome light off so the interior doesn’t light up at her appearance. We’ve followed my tracker to a quiet neighborhood in Duvall, a suburb of Seattle.
This place has more of a rural or outdoorsy feel, and if I ever have kids, I might think about settling in a place like this. But that’s about as likely to happen as colonizing the moon.
Alex left her vehicle at a nearby park (there are so many parks here!) so we wouldn’t stand out with two unknown vehicles on the curb.
Luckily I’m in Cara’s car because, like it or not, I would have had a higher chance of being noticed in my Corolla compared to her new BMW.
Someone will likely assume I’m here to visit friends or family.
“According to the property tax records,” Alex says, reading from her phone, “the home is owned by a Linda Godoy. Age fifty-five, divorced.”
I’ve got my phone out now too and am already looking on social media and other outlets.
It’s amazing how much people share online so I’m not surprised to find one Linda Godoy on Facebook with a treasure trove of information.
Including a picture of her and the guy who just pulled a weapon on me.
I had to dig back a bit, but the picture is public so I screenshot it.
It’s not tagged to anyone so I send the image to both Garcia and Foxe (in separate texts).
“Garcia said his contact thinks Hannah had a partner for her blackmail schemes. He didn’t give me a name—”
My phone buzzes with an incoming text from Foxe. “Sometimes I’m scared by how good she is. Not that I’ll ever admit it.”
“Me too,” Alex whispers, as if she’s afraid Foxe will overhear us.
For all I know, she’s listening in. “Name is Kade Godoy and oh, this is definitely the guy Garcia told me about.” The detective was a little vague on details but he mentioned that Hannah has a contact who is related to a suspected fence.
And from what I’m reading right now, that’s a description of Kade Godoy.
“So…he’s partners with Hannah. She works in a wealthy neighborhood,” I start, wanting to give some substance to my theory. Or at least give my thoughts some form.
I try to avoid theorizing anything when I’m working a job, mainly because I’m hired to find information. Not validate someone’s opinion or biased beliefs. Nope, I’m hired to dig up information, simple as that.
I’m trying to do the same thing here even though there’s no way I can ever be detached from Cara’s murder. If anything, I’m too close, but I’m not walking away.
“Hannah has access to a lot of homes. Ten that I remember reading about.” Most of her jobs are on a shorter contract basis, usually filling in for full-time nannies.
In my sister’s case, Hannah came in to work since Cara’s longtime nanny retired.
“And from her employment references, all relatively happy clients.”
“She’s home without the parents for hours at a time,” Alex continues. “And right now I’m thinking I’m never letting a stranger into my place.”
“Right?”
“So she’s in these homes, sees their safes, jewelry, expensive art, random things people leave around because they’re in the privacy of their own homes.”
I nod. “Exactly. And the robberies are always when she’s got alibis, according to Garcia. So maybe her partner is the one pulling the actual jobs.”
“And you know that if she’s stealing from her employers, there’s nothing stopping her from blackmail. It’s a small jump really.”
“We need to figure out who else in the neighborhood was blackmailed.” Obviously. But I want to put it out there.
“That’s going to be a lot harder,” Alex says.
“Yeah,” I mutter. People aren’t going to report blackmail. Not normally anyway. They want their secrets to remain just that, secret. “But we can at least narrow down potential blackmail targets. Anyone who lived in or in the near vicinity of the homes she nannied for.”
“That’s…”
“Going to be a lot, I know.” If she nannied for ten houses, that’s at least twenty neighbors roughly.
One on each side. And what about neighbors across the street?
Or random things she may have seen on playdates.
Ugh. This will be a nightmare, but it’s a starting point.
“She could have run off with her stolen goods and ditched Godoy. If they’re even partners. ”
“True.”
“But something happened in her place. There was definitely a struggle. Unless…she staged it.” I let out a groan of frustration. “We need to find Hannah.”
“We will. And we’ve got more today than we did yesterday. We’re getting closer.”
I know that, but this is my sister. I don’t want platitudes. “I want to talk to Marcus Chesky tonight.”
Alex glances at the dash. It’s a little after nine. To my surprise, she says, “I’ll sit on this place, see if they get any visitors.”
“You don’t think I should let Garcia know where Godoy is?” I may have texted him the image, but I didn’t give him more details.
“Maybe we keep an eye on him and follow if he leaves instead? I’ll plant a tracker on the truck in the driveway in case he ditches his current tracker.”
Or it dies, which it’s bound to soon. “He might lead us to Hannah. Or Hannah might come to him. But okay, I won’t tell Garcia I know where he is for now. Thank you for sticking with him.”
Alex shrugs and starts to get out, but then pauses. “Don’t go dark, and make sure you keep me updated about Chesky. We’re getting closer, I can feel it. And don’t do something stupid.”
“I would never.”
She gives me a dry look and gets out.
I wait until she parks behind me before I leave. I’m starting to get that same tingle that I normally do on jobs when I’m nearing the end.
I’m close to something, I can feel it. I’m just not sure if it ties into who killed my sister or not. If it doesn’t, I’m not stopping until I know the truth. I can’t.