Chapter 8
Simon looked at the search warrant in his hand and fought the primal urge to murder someone.
“You’re executing this now?” he asked calmly, so he wouldn’t scream.
It was nearly five o’clock in the evening.
The police wouldn’t kick off what was sure to be an extensive search at the close of business if they didn’t have damn good motivation.
Well, not unless they were purposely trying to be difficult, so knowing them, it was probably both.
“We are,” Detective Maxwell replied. Unfortunately, the warrant looked to be in order.
Even more unfortunately, the police wouldn’t have obtained it without probable cause, which meant Leo hadn’t been as careful as he’d claimed to have been when he’d killed Sal.
And that meant Simon had some calls to make.
But first things first. “Leo will want to contact his attorney, I’d imagine.”
Detective Hale breezed through the front door, her smile bright enough that Simon wanted to gnash his teeth. “Tell him to go for it. Whoever represents him is going to have the most billable hours in the firm this month. No contest.”
Simon’s pulse jumped in surprise, and he checked his expression to make sure it didn’t betray him.
He knew the detectives had been fishing at their first visit—his contact had confirmed that the Intelligence Unit didn’t have anything concrete to connect Leo to Sal Brinkman’s murder.
Detective Hale might be bluffing. She seemed the type to push her fucking luck.
Still, if she wasn’t, Simon needed to know what she knew.
He needed to know how the hell the police had gotten this warrant in the first place, and he was going to have enough to worry about once Leo—
“What the hell is going on here?” his brother’s voice boomed from the top of the curved staircase overlooking the marble foyer, and God damn these fucking detectives and their surprise tactics. Who knew what would come out of Leo’s mouth before Simon could reasonably shut him up.
“Search warrant,” Detective Maxwell said gruffly, and at least Leo had the sense of preservation not to cut the hulking detective off as he continued.
“We have a warrant to search all thirteen thousand square feet of the premises and the property it sits on. We’re also here to search the carriage house on the grounds, the eight-car garage—including all the vehicles inside it—oh, and we’ve got teams standing by at your businesses, ready to search every one of your offices, too. ”
Rage bubbled inside of Simon, scalding hot.
No judge would have signed off on a search this extensive without strong cause.
Not that Phil wouldn’t contest the warrant anyway, but Simon had to handle this now, before it got bigger.
He should have known to trust his instincts and not his brother—of course, Leo had been full of shit about having been careful.
Leo’s chin lifted, his expression an even split of indignance and confusion. “And what exactly are you looking for?”
“Ideally? The sharp, pointy weapon you used to murder Sal Brinkman,” Detective Hale said, “but we’ll settle for any other evidence that you committed the crime.
Oh! That reminds me. We’ll be borrowing potential murder weapons, electronics, clothing, footwear—you know, the usual—for forensic testing. You don’t mind, do you?”
“This is outrageous,” Leo said, his indignance winning out. “It’s an absolute invasion of my privacy. My lawyer is going to ruin you and your department.”
“Awesome,” she said, as if she truly meant it. “Now would probably be a good time for me to let you know that we’re not legally bound to allow you to be present for our little looky-lou. If you interfere, we’ll have no choice but to escort you from the premises until we’re done.”
Leo’s jaw tightened to the point of mutiny, and damn it, Simon needed to intervene and get Leo out of here before he said something that couldn’t be reversed. Moving quietly, he closed the space between them, dropping his voice to a murmur no one else could hear.
“Why don’t we let Phil deal with this? You said it yourself the other day, this is what you pay him for.”
Letting Leo think leaving was his idea was Simon’s first line of defense. Unfortunately, it didn’t work.
“No way. This is bullshit,” Leo said, loud enough for everyone in the foyer to hear, and Christ, the theatrics were over the top.
Simon countered, “All the more reason it’s not worth your time.
This is pointless. Completely beneath you”—he stepped into Leo’s field of vision before he could open his mouth again—“and it’s just a desperate attempt that won’t yield anything, anyway.
Leaving will show them how confident you are that this is all a farce. ”
Years of finely tuned observation and manipulation allowed Simon to see the second Leo considered the bait. Now, to sell it fully.
“Anyway, if you’re not at the restaurant, no one will be there to greet the VIPs. I just don’t know if that’s something I can handle.”
Now, Simon was pushing it, but luckily for him, Leo’s attention snagged. “All valid points,” Leo said, considering. “These ass-clowns aren’t going to find that murder weapon. I’ve got far more important things to do than waste my time here. I’ll let Phil clean up this mess.”
“I’ll make the call,” Simon said. Twenty minutes later, Leo had been dispatched via car service to the restaurant and Simon was finally able to get on with it.
Of course, he had a contingency plan for any time the police started sniffing around—an occupational hazard that was sadly unavoidable when one ran a crime syndicate and had a narcissistic miscreant for a brother.
Step one was always to neutralize Leo, which was also the step that usually took the most effort.
Phil had arrived shortly after Leo’s departure—step two—to ensure the legality of the warrant and distract the police with his steady stream of threats to sue the department, the city, and each officer present personally.
Courtesy of his bluster, Simon was finally able to fully engage in step three: slipping into the shadows to eavesdrop and observe.
After half an hour, he’d gained disappointingly little information.
While the police needed probable cause, agreed upon by a judge, in order to obtain a search warrant, they weren’t required to disclose exactly what that cause was until an arrest warrant was served.
If none of the officers riffling through the cabinets, cupboards, and drawers were going to get sloppy enough to make an offhand comment that would give Simon some insight, he’d have to skip straight to his source.
Making absolutely certain he wasn’t being watched or followed, Simon made his way to the second floor.
He headed away from the circus in Leo’s wing of the house, and as soon as he’d reached his own bathroom, shut the door, and turned on the faucet as high as it would go, he took his untraceable burner phone out of his jacket pocket.
When Runner picked up, neither of them bothered with a greeting. “Would you care to tell me why the estate is currently being searched by half of the RPD?” Simon asked.
“I take it you’re not hosting a benefit,” came the wry response, but since Leo had exhausted Simon’s tolerance for bullshit, he wasn’t in the mood.
“You told me they didn’t have anything,” Simon said, earning a soft scoff.
“I didn’t promise. I only deal in facts, and the fact is, when you asked me, all evidence was circumstantial.” A few soft clicks of a keyboard later, and Runner let out a breath. “But Leo’s been a bad boy. His DNA was found at the crime scene.”
Simon’s heart punched in his chest, but he held out hope. “Touch?”
Runner trashed it by saying, “Blood,” then vaporizing it completely by adding, “on the body. In three places.”
Fucking Leo. “Chain of custody?” Simon asked.
More typing on Runner’s end. “Looks clean, from what I can tell.”
“I don’t pay you to guess.”
Runner’s voice chilled a few degrees. “You don’t pay me to get caught, either. I have to cover my ass in order to cover yours.”
This was an unfortunate truth. It was another unfortunate truth that if the police had proof of Leo’s DNA on Brinkman’s body, it would only be a matter of time before this search warrant turned into an arrest warrant, and that wouldn’t do.
Again, Simon felt the dark temptation to let this investigation proceed so Leo could finally pay for his arrogance and stupidity.
If Leo was going to go down for a crime, it would be because Simon chose it, and he’d go down for a hell of a lot more than one puny murder that the D.A.
’s office was hanging on a single piece of evidence.
He exhaled on a count of five, his control kicking back in.
DNA was damning, yes, and it complicated things.
But if it was the only evidence the police had, Simon could work with that.
They wouldn’t find anything in this search.
Even Leo had enough self-preservation not to keep a murder weapon or bloody clothes lying around.
The house and the electronics would be clean, because Simon made them that way—not that Leo had a fucking clue how much work went into that.
The RPD didn’t have a murder weapon, obviously, since they’d been very clear they were looking for one.
An eyewitness was out of the question. Leo might be arrogant with a side of impulsive, but he wasn’t that dense, and anyway, an ID alone meant exactly shit.
No, the police must be working with the DNA alone.
Which meant this could be salvageable.
It would take work, Simon thought, fitting the pieces together.
While Phil could rely on his usual tactics to make the investigation a nightmare for the D.A.
’s office, Simon couldn’t leave Leo’s fate to the attorney.
He couldn’t have even a small chance that the authorities would get lucky.
Leo was the front that let Simon run everything.
This whole thing had to dead-end now, before the police got cocky and issued an arrest warrant, or—worse yet—Leo fucked up by running his mouth and gave them more proof.
No. Their only proof was this DNA, and if that disappeared, then so did this case. Which meant Simon was, once again, going to have to take control of the situation.
“You have the forensics report in front of you?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Runner replied, wary. “Why?”
“Because I want to know where the DNA kit is being stored. It’s time to make this go away, once and for all.”