I could do with fewer donuts in my life, but this was a special case, so a few moments later—ok, a slow limping later—I parked myself on the small terrace outside the Doughnut Plant across the street with Misty while Cheryl went to fetch us all the gooey goodness. As I waited I leafed through Larry Williams’ notebook I’d taken with me, but it made no more sense to me now than it had earlier.
“Anything interesting in there?”
I really shouldn’t have been surprised to see Jonny Moreira taking a seat on the chair next to me, but I was. He leaned down to scratch Misty’s head and she preened happily for him.
“She’s doing well,” he noted.
“You’re not getting her back.” He had originally adopted Misty to aid his boss’s nefarious plans, but Jackson and I had rescued the dog and given her to Cheryl.
He smiled, straightening. “I’m not trying to. Why so suspicious?”
“I wonder.”
“Does that have to do with the case?” He pointed at the notebook.
“Yes, but it doesn’t tell us who killed your cousin. It doesn’t tell us anything,” I added, disgusted with the stupid book. “It’s in code.”
“May I see?” I handed the book over. It wasn’t like he could make the case more messed up than it already was. He leafed through it like I had, frowning. “If this is about the gambling angle you mentioned, I’d say someone’s been counting cards.”
My brows shot up. “I thought you’d have to be one of those savant types to count cards.” And Larry Williams hadn’t struck me as one. Then again, he had to be some kind of smart to pull off the scam in the first place. If he was involved. This could be Hannah’s notebook just as well. We only had her word it belonged to her husband.
“It’s easier if you can do it in your head, especially if you’re at the table playing yourself. You can’t keep a book then. But if you have a partner this might work.” He gave the book back. “Was that helpful?”
I frowned, my theories collapsing one after another in my head. “This case officially stopped making sense ages ago, so I have no idea.”
“But a gambling scam is why Sheila was killed?”
“We think she might have exposed it and got killed because of it, but that’s just the most plausible explanation. We still have no idea who killed her or where the weapon is.”
“I thought her head was … bashed.” He didn’t seem like a skittish type, but now he looked pained.
“Turned out she was shot.” I decided not to mention that she’d been dropped from a high place too.
He blinked at me slowly. Then blinked again. “You’re right. This is a mess of a case.” He noticed Cheryl exiting the shop and got up. “So how did it go last night?”
I sighed. “We were arrested.”
He grinned. “Aren’t you a criminal. Bailed out?”
“Nah, my brother came to the rescue and he had Jarod and me freed.”
This made him laugh aloud. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before going against a guy that big.” With that, he headed down the street and soon disappeared around the corner.
“Was that the nice young man who gave me Misty?” Cheryl asked, placing her tray on the table on my other side. She’d been really taken with him when he came over to bring Misty’s papers, and had remained so even though I’d told her who he was. But he was good looking and had been on his best behavior, so who was I to blame her for it. And he seemed to have a way with middle-aged women, because Cheryl wasn’t the only one to call him nice.
“What did he want?”
I sighed. “I wish I knew.”
We were halfway through demolishing the full tray of donuts—Cheryl had gone nuts with the selection—green tea flavored glazing, anyone?—when Jarod called.
“I have the information you need. Can you come over?”
“I can, but I’d rather not. My knee is giving me enough trouble as is.”
“I’ll come to you, then. Are you at the office?” I said yes and he hung up.
We were back at the agency, feeling slightly nauseous—okay, really nauseous; I shouldn’t have eaten that third donut—when Jarod showed up. His face looked worse than the previous day, and Cheryl went into instant mother-hen mode over it. But he didn’t seem to be suffering, and his eyes were shining with excitement. We gathered around Cheryl’s computer and he uploaded documents from an USB-stick.
“Okay, this is Miller-Hollis Holdings. It’s a pretty obscure company with offshore accounts and subsidiaries that only exist on paper. But listen to this: the one thing in common with them is that Alisa Strand sits on the boards of all of them. She’s the only named member, actually.”
“And who is she?”
“No one. She doesn’t exist except on paper.”
My shoulders slumped. “Great. So how do we prove she’s connected with Hannah Williams?”
“That was slightly trickier,” Jarod said, looking pleased with himself. “But I cracked it.” He opened a new document. “Turns out, Miller-Hollis Holding was originally based in Las Vegas. Hannah Williams came under scrutiny of the gambling officials there, and she gave as her occupation personal assistant to Alisa Strand.”
“Who doesn’t, in fact, exist.”
“Exactly. So I dug a little deeper and it turned out that every large transaction Alisa Strand made in Las Vegas was handled by Hannah Williams.”
I nodded, impressed. “And what about the property here?”
“Miller-Hollis bought it two years ago when the company relocated here, converted the house into three apartments and rented out two of them, perfectly legitimately. And then one apartment was rented to Alisa Strand.”
“Who still doesn’t exist. So who lives there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is Hannah Williams still listed as her assistant?”
“No.”
“Shit.” I drew a deep breath, trying to clear my head. “Okay, great job. I’ll call my brother and have him decide what to do with this info. You did come by it legally, right?”
“Yep. I didn’t have to hack into anything. But I can, if you want info on those offshore accounts.” He looked hopeful.
I shook my head at him as I called Trevor. “What?” he practically barked. “Hannah Williams didn’t show up here.”
“Not yet. Jackson sent me a message and told me that she’s pretty much travelling around Brooklyn. Either she knows he’s following her or she has a suspicious mind. But never mind that, I have information for you.” I told him what Jarod had found. “Is it enough to get a search warrant?”
“I can try, but I doubt it. But it’s enough to contact Las Vegas police and ask about her.”
“You do that. And let me know if Jackson shows up.”
After the call ended, I was left kicking my heels. I wanted to do something, but I was out of options. When Travis called I was happy for the diversion.
“Do you have anything to get my client free?”
“No. His alibi has disappeared from the face of the Earth. And now his wife is trying to implicate him after all.”
“For the murder?”
“Or the gambling scam she or both of them were running.”
“But you have nothing that would implicate my client either?”
“I have his notebook that contains code for counting cards.”
“If it’s not about the murder I don’t have to care. The police have to charge him for the murder by the end of the day or he’ll go free.”
“There’s the little matter of bigamy too.”
“He can be bailed for that, and the gambling scam too, for that matter—if he can find the money.”
“It may be there’s plenty of money.” I told him about the holding company.
“I could try to get the warrant for you,” he instantly suggested.
“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”
“I represent Larry Williams, not his wife.”
“In that case, try it. Though Trevor is trying too.”
“I’ll call him.” And he hung up.
I glanced at my watch. “What are the chances they’ll get the warrant today?”
“Well, if your brother knows a judge, it could go fast,” Cheryl said, but she didn’t sound confident.
I growled. “I don’t like this. I need to see what’s in that apartment.” I had a bad feeling about the place. “Let’s go take a look.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea?” Cheryl asked. Her face echoed the worry I felt.
“Not even a little.” But I wasn’t going to let that stop me.
In the end, Cheryl, Misty, Jarod and I all got into Cheryl’s car and she drove us half a street down from Hannah’s apartment. The distance wasn’t far, but we’d decided that even with the dog we’d look suspicious hanging out on the street—plus my knee was killing me and I didn’t want to walk.
I got out of the car, my knee be damned. “If I haven’t returned in fifteen minutes, call the police.”
“What do you suppose will have happened?” Cheryl asked. She still didn’t think this was a good idea, but she’d insisted on tagging along.
“I don’t know, but the old lady upstairs sounded cranky.”
“If the police come and find you’ve broken into the apartment, what will you tell them?”
“That I smelled gas?”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Me too.” If the worst happened, I’d be arrested. And this time Trevor wouldn’t fast-talk me out of it.