Freddie spent the next several hours before the game writing the report that would be used to charge the Cortezes with six counts of murder and other charges. He’d texted Gonzo and Matt, both of whom had agreed to meet him at the Caps game to try to find Isaiah Wiley. That would be a huge long shot, but worth a try.
As he worked on the report summarizing the Blanchet case, he tried to ignore the nagging feeling that he’d missed something big.
But what?
They had several of the other gymnastics parents who could testify to hearing Liliana Blanchet calling the Cortezes racist animals. They had social media posts and comments tying Gia Cortez to a racially tinged campaign against Eloise Blanchet. Cell phone data put them at the scene of the crime. Their car was spotted on video in the neighborhood. In a world where slam-dunk cases were rare, this one was shaping up to be just that.
Except, he still felt like they’d missed something.
Sam called to check in. “How’s it going?”
“Everything about this outcome feels wrong to me.”
“The evidence doesn’t lie, Freddie. That’s what you have to believe in.”
“I believe in it. I just can’t believe someone would commit mass murder over a middle school gymnastics competition.”
“I agree, it’s unreal. But we’ve seen all sorts of crazy reasons for murder. How often does it make sense?”
“Rarely,” he said with a sigh.
“You’re looking for something to make sense that will never make sense to us as people who don’t understand how anyone could ever commit murder, especially the murders of four innocent kids.”
“Yeah.”
“You did a great job. You followed the evidence to where it led you, and you’ve put together a case that’ll hold up in court.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“I do think so.”
“They’ve informed the public defender that they’ll be getting their own lawyer. I’ve made calls to the three they asked for. No response yet. I hate to break it to them, but they might not find a lot of lawyers willing to represent people who’d shoot kids in their beds.”
“True. You did great, Detective. I’m so proud of you.”
“Thanks. You know that means everything to me.”
“Finish up and go home to your wife.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Talk to you in the morning.”
Freddie put down the phone, feeling slightly better after talking to her. If she was pleased with the outcome, then he should be, too. He went downstairs to the city jail, where the Cortezes were being held together. Archie’s team was monitoring the camera trained on their cell, as they’d hoped the Cortezes would say something to each other to further cement the case against them.
They perked up when they saw Freddie.
“Are you releasing us?” Pascal asked.
“No. I’ve come to tell you we’re also charging you, Pascal, with the murders of the Blanchets. You’ll be arraigned in the morning.”
Pascal’s face turned ghostly white. “That’s not possible. We didn’t do it!”
“We have your social media posts showing your hatred of Eloise. Thanks to your cell phone data, we can prove you were at the home, your car was spotted in the neighborhood on multiple cameras the night of the murders, and you had motive after she called you racist animals.”
“How can this be happening when we didn’t do it?” Gia asked on a high-pitched wail. “Tell him, Pascal! We didn’t do this! What about our children?”
“I’ll be back in the morning.” Freddie hoped a lawyer would take their case so they could get the case into court as soon as possible. He didn’t give a crap about what became of people who’d murder children in their beds.
As he walked away, Gia continued to wail and scream to be let out of there to get home to their children. Freddie ignored her and went upstairs to submit his report.
He wanted to get back to reviewing Stahl’s cases, expecting to find more irregularities.
And he was eager to go to the hockey game, look for Isaiah and then get home to Elin, who was the only one who could make him forget another long, traumatic day on the job.
Collins Worthy made Nicoletta wait an entire day before he graced her with his presence.
She was put in handcuffs and leg chains to be escorted by a deputy to a private room. As she walked into the room, she nearly stopped short at the sight of a drop-dead handsome man. He’d be described as a silver fox, with a deep tan and a sharp custom-made suit that hugged his well-honed physique.
Nicoletta’s mouth watered at the sight of him.
That had never happened before. She’d used men to suit her purposes since the minute she began to understand her power as a woman, back when she was still a teenager, and had never stopped manipulating them to suit her needs. Not once had she ever been truly attracted to one of them.
Until now.
And that had to happen when she was shackled and cuffed, wearing an orange jumpsuit with her hair a mess and her face devoid of makeup. She hoped the root touch-up she’d had last week was holding back the gray hair that’d started to appear right after she turned fifty.
Meeting a man who made her mouth water when she looked like something the cat had dragged home was another thing to blame on her bitch daughter-in-law.
“Have a seat,” Worthy said.
Nicoletta deeply resented the clanking of the chains as she made her way to the table, where a bottle of water had been set in front of her seat. She raised her cuffed hands to open the blessedly cold water and took greedy gulps. Ice-cold water was one of her favorite things. Living without that and so many other necessities since she’d been in this hellhole had been a nightmare. She shuddered to think how her face was holding up without her nightly mask to fight wrinkles and fine lines.
“Thank you for the water.”
“You’re welcome.” He took a seat across from her and folded his hands on the tabletop. “So, this is a fine mess you find yourself in.”
“Can you get me out of here?”
“I can sure as hell try, but first, I need you to be honest with me. Are you guilty of what you’re charged with?”
Nicoletta glanced at the cameras positioned in every corner of the room.
“They can see us, but not hear us. Anything you say in here is between us.”
“I, um…” Honesty was not her strong suit, but as she looked up, her gaze connecting with steely blue eyes that made her mouth water all over again, she decided to level with him. “I was running the escort service because older women have a right to love and affection, too. So many of them came to me after being widowed or unceremoniously dumped by their husbands. They wanted to get back out there, and they needed to make enough to survive. I saw it as a community service.”
As she spoke, he took notes with a fine-looking pen. Maybe a Montblanc. Her father had had one that he’d treasured.
“What about the money-laundering charges through the bar?”
“I’m a co-owner of Carl’s Place.”
“Which has a net yield of four million a year?”
“It’s a popular spot.”
He put down his pen and folded his hands again.
As she thought of those strong, capable hands sliding over her skin, she broke out in goose bumps.
“I’m going to be straight with you, Ms. Bernadino.”
“Please. Call me Nicoletta.”
“Nicoletta… You’re in a world of trouble here. The state prostitution charges are misdemeanors that can be easily pled out. However, no one believes that Carl’s Place makes four million a year. The feds have you—and Carl—nailed on felony racketeering charges, which is the most serious piece of the puzzle here.”
“Do you know who my son is?”
“Yes, I do, but he’s not going to help you. He’s made it clear that he has no relationship with you and never has.”
“That is not true! It’s his bitch of a wife that’s making him say that stuff. We’ve had a wonderful relationship since he was a little boy.”
Worthy gave her a skeptical look. “You’re being honest with me, remember?”
She felt ashamed, and shame was an emotion that didn’t look good on her. “Okay, so maybe I wasn’t mother of the year, but I always loved and cared for him. I made sure he was in a good home and had what he needed. He grew up to be the president. Do you think that just happens without a lot of support?”
“I’ve read every word that’s ever been printed about him—and you—and I have a very clear picture of how that happened. You had nothing to do with it.”
Suddenly, he wasn’t looking quite so attractive to her.
“If you’re going to come out of this with your freedom, I’d recommend you stick to the facts and stop trying to rewrite history. No one cares if your son is the president, especially your son, the president. It’s certainly not in his best interest to hitch his wagon to you while you’re sitting in a jail cell.”
Nicoletta wished she could get up and storm out of the room. She’d slam the door if she could, too.
“I can help you, but only if you take responsibility for your crimes and agree to pay the price. You’ll have to shut down your escort service, sell your stake in Carl’s and make restitution for the taxes you’ve avoided by running money through the bar.”
“How am I supposed to do that with all my assets frozen?”
“You get a legitimate job and start to pay off your debt to society.”
“And how am I supposed to live while I do that?”
“The same way everyone else does. By working hard and paying your bills.”
“Amber said you were a nice guy and a shark who’d make this go away for me,” Nicoletta said tearfully. “I don’t think you’re either of those things.”
His handsome face lit up with a smile. “I’m both those things, and my goal is to get you out of here with a deal that spares you a trial and gets you back home as soon as possible. I assume that’s your goal, too.”
“It is, but what then? I won’t be able to keep my home or any of my things. What kind of life is that?”
“What kind of life are you leading in here?”
“There has to be a way that I can hang on to some of the money. Can’t we make that part of the deal?”
“I can try, but ill-gotten gains are tough to hang on to.”
“They’re not ill-gotten. They were gotten through hard work and determination. We never made anyone do anything they didn’t want to do. Everyone involved was a willing participant.”
“Maybe so, but the activities in question are still against the law.”
“Well, they shouldn’t be.”
“Take that up with your congresspeople.”
“I’ll do that.”
“In the meantime, if you’re willing to consider a plea deal, I could get you out of here within a couple of days.”
The thought of starting over—again—was almost too overwhelming to consider. “I’ll need some of the money. I’m willing to plead in exchange for keeping at least half of the money so I can live without struggling. That’s my bottom line.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
He stood and put his belongings in a fine leather tote that had his initials embossed in gold. CMW. She wondered what the M stood for.
“Will you be back?”
“Yes, Nicoletta,” he said with a warm smile that made her tingle in all the most important places. “I’ll be back.”
At least she had something to look forward to now.
When Gonzo and Matt arrived at HQ to go to the Caps game together, Freddie told them he wanted to make another stop before they went to the game.
“Where’re we going?”
“To the Blanchets’ home.”
The idea had come to him an hour earlier as he’d sifted through the paperwork on the case and tried to put himself in Isaiah Wiley’s position. If he had nowhere else, where would he go? Home to his mother. Would Isaiah do the same thing, even if his “mother” wasn’t there anymore?
“It’s a long shot, but worth looking into.”
“We’re with you, boss man,” Gonzo said, earning an eye roll from Freddie.
Gonzo was the boss whenever the two of them were together, and everyone knew it.
Freddie appreciated everyone deferring to him as the detective in charge of the investigation, but he’d be happy to get back to normal, where he was just a detective with Sam and Gonzo telling him what to do.
He’d already obtained the entry code from Lieutenant Haggerty with Crime Scene. They put a lockbox on the door of each place they investigated until the property was returned to the owners. He wondered who would own the home now that the Blanchets and their children were deceased. Probably Marcel’s mother.
Freddie directed Gonzo to park a block from the house. “Let’s fan out and see if there’s any sign of someone inside.”
They had radios with earpieces to keep in contact with one another as they moved around the perimeter.
“I see a TV flickering at the back of the house,” Matt reported.
Freddie and Gonzo went to take a look.
Adrenaline coursed through Freddie at having followed a hunch that might possibly have led them to their missing man.
“What’s the plan?” Gonzo asked.
Before Freddie could answer him, a door opened in the lower part of the house, and a person stepped outside. The spark of a lighter illuminated his face and confirmed his identity. A minute later, the scent of marijuana wafted over to where they were standing.
“Is it really gonna be this easy?” Freddie asked in a whisper.
“Looks like it,” Gonzo said.
“You guys go around to the other side,” Freddie said. “Let’s meet in the middle.”
When they were in position, Gonzo said, “Ready,” into the radio.
“Let’s go,” Freddie replied.
With his weapon drawn, he stuck close to the shrubbery to stay hidden until the last possible second.
The young man was surrounded by cops before he knew what hit him. He put his hands in the air, one of them still holding the joint.
“Put that out,” Freddie said.
Isaiah extinguished the blunt in an ashtray he’d obviously used before.
“I didn’t hurt them,” he said. “I loved them.”
“Let’s go inside and have a chat,” Freddie said, directing him toward the door with his weapon.
They followed him into a spacious basement and turned on the light to find that someone was obviously living there. Clothes were strewn about, fast-food containers were on the coffee table and sneakers on the floor. Isaiah was about six feet tall with broad shoulders and a handsome face. He was mixed race with light brown skin, brown eyes and curly dark hair. He had matured significantly since the boy he’d been in the photo Freddie had been given.
“How long have you been here?” Freddie asked.
“On and off for years.”
“What?” Freddie asked. “We were told your adoption was voided years ago.”
“It was, but I stayed close. There’s a room down here they never went near. They didn’t know it existed.”
“Show me,” Freddie said.
They followed Isaiah to a hallway that had a number of closed doors. Inside one of the rooms was a door that connected to a small space that had an air mattress on the floor. Here, they found all the personal effects that had been missing in Isaiah’s room at the facility that was his official home. There were photos of him with the Blanchets taped to the wall, along with Capitals and Washington Feds posters.
“How did you get in?” Freddie asked.
“They never changed the code on the basement door and rarely used the alarm. If the alarm was on, I still got a notification on my phone from when I lived here.” He gave them a wary look. “I know how this must look to you, but I loved them. I wanted to stay close to them.”
“Were you here the night they were killed?”
Isaiah hesitated before he nodded.
“Did you see anything?”
“I got some of it on video.”
Freddie felt light-headed at hearing that. “Why didn’t you call for help?”
“It went down fast. Like, so fast it was over before it began. I was so scared. Like, more scared than I’ve ever been.”
“But you had the presence of mind to record it?” Gonzo asked, stealing Freddie’s next question.
“It’s the weirdest thing, but I have no memory of starting the video. One minute, I was watching through a crack in the dining room door, and the next minute, she was dead, and I was so scared they’d find me next. So I came downstairs and hid until all the people stopped coming.”
“Did you recognize the people who killed them?”
“Nah, I never seen them before.”
“Show us the video,” Freddie asked.
Isaiah pulled his phone from his back pocket and sat in an upholstered chair. Freddie, Gonzo and Matt surrounded him as he pushed Play on the video that showed Gia Cortez confronting Liliana Blanchet as she came in from outside, carrying grocery bags. Liliana was shocked to find Gia standing in her kitchen, holding a gun, and dropped the bags.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Your husband let me in.”
“No way he’d let you in here.”
“It’s funny what happens when a man’s life is threatened.”
“What do you want?” Liliana asked in a trembling voice.
Gia pointed to the ceiling. “Wait for it…”
The pop, pop, pop of gunfire had Liliana screaming as she ran toward Gia.
Gia pushed her back.
Pascal appeared in the kitchen, holding another gun.
“End her,” Gia said.
“What did you do to my babies?” Liliana shrieked as she tried to get the gun from Pascal.
The gun went off, but Liliana didn’t even flinch. That was probably the bullet that had ended up in the crown molding around the kitchen ceiling.
Pascal pushed her off him.
Liliana fell backward.
“Did you think you could call us racist animals in front of everyone and go on with your lives like that never happened?” Gia screamed at her. “Your husband is dead. Your children are dead. Now it’s your turn.”
Liliana’s screams echoed through the kitchen.
“Just do it, Pascal. I’ve had more than enough of her.”
He pointed the gun at Liliana and put a bullet in her forehead.
“Jesus,” Gonzo muttered.
“We need your phone, and we’ll have to put you in protective custody,” Freddie said, shaken to his core.
“Why?” Isaiah asked.
“Because we’ll need you to testify to what you witnessed.”
“Who were those people that killed my family?” Isaiah asked tearfully.
“Their daughter was in gymnastics with Eloise,” Freddie said, sickened by what he’d seen on the video. “They were angry about her success.”
“For real? That’s why they killed them?”
“Yeah,” Freddie said.
“That’s fucked up.”
“It sure is.”