The door to McVie Investigations opened. Fenway thrust out the bottle of Momentos Azules Reposado in front of her. “I didn’t realize this would be so pricey.”
“It’s a tradition in the Castaneda house when you finish something big,” Piper said, taking the tequila from Fenway’s hand. “Oh—you got the reposado! Migs will love this.”
“Sure,” Fenway said. “Now what did you find?”
“Going toe-to-toe with SinCitySuper isn’t easy,” Piper said, turning to her desk and setting the bottle next to her mouse. “Lots of obfuscation.”
“But you’re sure it’s her?”
“In my mind? Yeah, I’m sure it’s her. But I’m not sure we have anything that’ll hold up in court.”
“I don’t know about that—Emma Northwall paid you from those accounts. It’s relevant, and you’ve given permission.”
“I’ll leave that up to the lawyers, then.” Piper tapped the screen. “There’s a site on the dark web for fake IDs and passports that was accessed using one of the anonymized browsers that SinCitySuper prefers. Of course, the IP address was insanely hard to track, but the algorithm used was similar to a couple of other transfers I suspect are hers—”
“I know you think this is fascinating,” Fenway said, “but I really just need to know where Emma Northwall is.”
Piper glanced over her shoulder at Fenway, annoyed. “I was about to tell you that those transfers align with a three-million-dollar anonymous donation to Dominguez Ocean Rescue. That more than triples what they announced at the end of their fundraising dinner two nights ago.” She reached out and tapped the screen again. “And a one-million-dollar donation for Ethical Hackers for Change. I don’t have a smoking gun, but I’m convinced Haley Sinclair pulled the trigger on these.”
Fenway nodded. “Sorry. Yes, that’s relevant.”
Piper clicked onto another screen. “I narrowed the new IDs down to three names: Leann Woodley, Maisy Vanderjagt, and Anne Jefferson. All would fit a white woman in her early- to mid-forties. And the fake IDs were all ordered in the last month.”
“Are there any matches—”
“I’m running everything now,” Piper said. “So far, no matches on commercial airlines or trains. I’m running things with charters next—private jet companies and buses. But that takes a while.” She looked sideways at Fenway and grinned. “I kind of thought we could have an early lunch while we wait.”
Fenway sighed. “I’m trying to catch a murderer, Piper. I don’t have time for lunch.”
“And I’m literally going as fast as I can. But the data can only get processed so fast.” Piper tilted her head. “You know this is ten times faster than you’d be able to get information out of the county. Doesn’t matter how good Patrick is—that equipment is ancient compared to mine, and I know you wouldn’t even be able to get the work order processed till Friday.”
“I understand, but Emma Northwall could be getting on a plane as we speak.”
“She might have left before you figured any of this out.” Piper paused. “How did you figure this out, anyway?”
Fenway stepped to the side of Piper’s desk and pulled a plastic chair toward her. “It was pretty clear that after Redmond Northwall suspected that Frank Mortimer was stealing money from Radical Familiar, he didn’t just want the money back—he planned on taking it himself.”
“Right. That’s why you thought he killed Frank Mortimer.”
“But he got greedy.”
Piper nodded. “Common theme.”
“He didn’t just want the money from the company—or cashing out his stake—he took everything out of his joint accounts with Emma, too. He made sure Emma would have nothing.”
Piper scoffed. “I guess he figured leaving the country was cheaper than divorce.”
Fenway pulled out her phone. “I got reports from Redmond’s cell phone this morning. And from the phone he called.”
Piper tilted her head. “Can I see it?”
Fenway hesitated.
“Oh, come on. All this information from the dark web—you’d never find Emma without me.”
“Fine.” Fenway opened the spreadsheet and made it as big as she could on her phone, then pointed at the screen. “So look, here’s the date that Haley Sinclair worked that tech event for Radical Familiar.”
“The day after—that’s when the calls to the prepaid phone show up.”
“Right. And look”—Fenway scrolled down a bit—“here’s the date Frank Mortimer booked his flight to Belize with Haley Sinclair as the second passenger.”
“A ninety-three minute call from Northwall to the prepaid phone?”
“Right.” Fenway looked up at Piper. “I think that’s when Northwall tried to get Haley to come with him to Belize.”
Piper nodded. “And until then, Haley thought she’d just been getting Frank’s stolen money back to their rightful owners.”
“That’s my theory, anyway.” Fenway flicked her finger and a second report appeared. “Because look who the burner phone called the next morning.”
Piper tilted her head. “I don’t recognize that number.”
“Really? Look at the first report again.” Fenway flipped back.
“Oh.” Piper’s eyes went wide. “That number is a secondary number on Northwall’s account—that must be Emma’s phone.”
“Exactly. I think Haley told Emma exactly what Redmond was planning.”
“But—that’s the only call to Emma’s number.”
Fenway pointed three lines down. “Do you see that number?”
Piper squinted. “Yes.”
“That’s the burner phone that made the 9-1-1 call the day Dez and I found Frank Mortimer’s body in the temple. First call to that burner phone is the day after the call to Emma. I think Emma got a burner phone so she and Haley could talk.”
Piper exhaled. “So, you’re saying that Emma got the Bloodstone Scepter—”
“From her garage, where Redmond kept it—”
“—then went to the temple, maybe got in using her husband’s keys. She met Frank there, killed him with the scepter, then called 9-1-1 and she’s been spending the rest of the time framing her husband for his murder.”
Fenway nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. When it looked like we’d have trouble prosecuting him without a body, she convinced Chad Wilkenson and one of the other Brotherhood members to ‘protect’ Redmond by throwing the body into the ocean. But I bet she knew currents—she works with the ocean charity, plus she has a marine biology degree. She intended for the body to wash up on shore in the next day or two. That way, we’d have what we needed to prosecute.”
“And meanwhile,” Piper said, “Haley—SinCitySuper—transfers all the money out of Redmond’s account in Belize and into her account.”
“That’s right.”
Piper frowned. “Why is it okay with Haley for Emma to have all the stolen money, but not Redmond?”
“I have a feeling,” Fenway said, “that Radical Familiar Software will soon get a wire transfer in the amount of all the money that Frank Mortimer skimmed off the top. And Emma Northwall will be able to comfortably live on the money her husband sold his stake in the company for.”
Piper’s computer dinged. “We got a hit.” She turned back to her screen and clicked with her mouse. “Only one of those names, though,” Piper said. “Anne Jefferson is a name on a passenger manifest for a private jet headed for Guadalajara out of Estancia.”
“When?”
Piper pressed her lips together. “It’s scheduled for takeoff in twenty-eight minutes. I’ll text you the tail number.”
Fenway jumped up, pulling her keys out of her purse. “I better hurry.”
Fenway’s Accord shuddered as its tires squealed, cornering hard onto Airport Boulevard. A police cruiser streaked past her on the right, lights flashing but no sirens. She glanced at the driver: Dez.
She followed the cruiser as it turned into the private hangar area. A chain-link fence separated the parking lot from the runway. A Bombardier A300 was on the tarmac, its stairs down.
Fenway squealed to a stop in the parking lot, killed the engine and jumped out of the Accord. Dez was right behind her. They ran through an open gate and sprinted across the tarmac toward the jet.
“Stop!” Fenway yelled.
But the noise of the airport drowned out her voice. She glanced over at Dez, who was running with her badge held over her head.
A staff member in a YourJet uniform stuck her head out of the plane, then glanced at the two women sprinting toward her. She walked down the steps and held her hand up as Fenway and Dez slowed to a stop in front of her.
“Yes, ladies?” the woman said in a Dutch accent. “How can I help you?”
“You have an Anne Jefferson aboard this flight,” Fenway said, trying to catch her breath. “We need her to come with us for questioning.”
The woman frowned. “We had a passenger by that name, but I’m afraid there was a last-minute cancellation.”
Fenway cursed under her breath.
“Daphne? Is everything all right?” A second woman’s face appeared: pale, freckled features framed by red hair. Emma Northwall.
“Emma Northwall,” Fenway said, “you are…”
Then she trailed off before she could arrest her.
No proof. No evidence. Everything pointed to Emma’s husband—not her. All she had was conjecture. And questions.
“You’re wanted for questioning regarding the murder of Frank Mortimer.”
Emma smiled. “I’m sorry, Coroner, but my husband stole a lot of money from hardworking people. I’m traveling overseas to try to get it back.”
“You’re—” Fenway bit her lip, but there was no other way to play it. “You’re wanted in connection with Mortimer’s murder.”
“His murder?” Emma showed shock on her face. “Am I under arrest?”
Fenway clenched her fists. She could arrest her—but for what? They could only hold her for forty-eight hours. No fingerprints on the weapon, no one to put her at the scene, no way to even connect her to the burner phone.
Dez pulled on her sleeve. “You don’t have any evidence? I thought you said that Piper—”
“I thought,” Fenway murmured to Dez, “we could arrest her for traveling under Anne Jefferson’s passport. And then we’d build a case with everything we’d uncover in the next few days or weeks.”
“I’m sorry?” Emma said, frowning, but her eyes twinkling. “Did you say Anne Jefferson? Oh no, I’d never travel under a passport that wasn’t mine.” She cocked her head at Fenway. “Do you know that my husband was just arrested for doing that very thing?”
Fenway’s jaw dropped open.
“I’d love to help, Coroner, I really would. But I’ve gotten word that my husband was a thief, and I think I can do something to get that money back. After all, he and I are married—I might convince the banks in Belize to grant me access to the money, then I can return it to its rightful owner.” She smiled. “And that would be a great win for the Sheriff’s department, wouldn’t it? Instead of going under, Radical Familiar could continue employing people, attracting investment from outside the county.”
“A man was killed,” Fenway said.
Emma nodded. “Yes, I knew Frank. His wife and I are quite close. A real shame how he tried to take everything from her.” She sighed dramatically. “And I’ve heard my husband was responsible for his murder, as well. His lawyer told me. Now that Frank’s body has been recovered, it’s an open-and-shut case. She’s recommending he take a plea. He’s always been a fighter—which, I admit, hasn’t been the best for our relationship—but perhaps she’ll get him to see reason.”
Fenway’s stomach tightened.
Dez elbowed Fenway. “We have nothing,” she hissed in Fenway’s ear.
“She’s literally getting away with murder, Dez.”
“And there’s nothing we can do. Let’s go.”
“We could arrest her.”
“For what? Murder? With what evidence?”
“For—for helping dump the body. Same thing we charged Chad for—I bet she’s the one who put him up to it.”
“You can’t prove that, either.” Dez shook her head. “You’ll put your career on the line just to keep her off this plane. And you’ll lose.”
Fenway opened her mouth, then shut it again. “I hate this.”
“I do too, rookie,” Dez said.
Fenway jumped as if stung. “You haven’t called me that in months.”
“Yeah, well, you need to learn that you can’t win ’em all.”
Dez turned and walked back to the police cruiser.
Fenway watched her go.
“I’m sorry,” the YourJet staff member said, “but unless you have a warrant for this woman’s arrest, I’ll have to ask you to vacate the area around the plane so we may depart safely.”
Fenway looked from the staff member to Emma’s face.
“I’m sorry, Coroner,” Emma said. “This is a horrible situation for everyone involved. I’m doing what I can to make it better. I’m sure you understand.”
“I understand perfectly,” Fenway said, hearing the note of bitterness in her voice. Then, attempting a modicum of sincerity: “I hope you get the company’s money back.”
Emma nodded.
Fenway turned and took a few steps, then turned again to say something to Emma.
But the door was already closed.