Mitch Corta had disappeared.
Okay, Sean thought, maybe not actually disappeared, but Sean couldn’t find him anywhere. He wasn’t at work—his assistant said he left at noon, saying he was sick. Sean checked out his house, he wasn’t there. Sean considered breaking in but decided against it. Then Sean drove by all of Mitch Corta’s active listings, but neither he nor his car was there.
Where they hell had he gone?
As he drove back from Mitch’s house—for the second time—a familiar number called him.
“Patrick, it’s about time you called me back.”
“I’m sorry, Sean, it’s been crazy.”
“Lucy wants you here for Thanksgiving.”
“I know. I’m trying to make it work, but there are extenuating circumstances. I can’t—it’s hard to explain.”
“Tell me.”
Sean listened to Patrick. “Call Lucy and tell her what’s going on. She’ll understand.”
“No, she won’t. I know she doesn’t like Elle, and this is going to be one more thing that’s going to grate on her.”
“They just rub each other the wrong way,” Sean said. “You didn’t like me when I started dating Lucy.”
“Not exactly true.”
“Really.”
“It was different.”
Sean snorted. “Keep telling yourself that, buddy. Just listen to me: Tell Lucy.”
“Maybe. We’re still hoping to work it all out. But … I’m not coming without Elle. I can’t do that to her, even to make Lucy happy. I hope Lucy understands, someday.”
“I might have an idea.”
“What?”
“I need to make a call, but just be open to suggestions.”
“All right,” he said suspiciously.
“Trust me, Patrick.”
“Famous last words,” he muttered.
Sean laughed, said good-bye, and ended the call. He sent a message to Kate about Patrick’s dilemma, and she responded almost immediately:
I’ll move mountains.
Sean grinned. If anyone could fix this, it was Kate.
His cell phone rang, and he couldn’t imagine that Kate had answers in five minutes, but when he answered he realized it was Marie, Stanley Grant’s sister.
“Sean, I’m sorry to bother you, but Billy and John convinced me that I needed to call you with information.”
“Are you in Lake Charles?” She was planning to go there with her ex and stay with her family until this case blew over.
“Yes. We’re here.”
“Good. I don’t think you’re in danger anymore, but it’s best to be cautious.”
“Mitch called me late this morning to tell me how sorry he was that Stan was gone,” Marie said, her voice quiet, tired. “He was torn up—really torn up. I asked him if he knew what was going on—why Stan confessed when it was clear that Mitch didn’t believe that he killed Victoria. I begged him to tell me why he was killed.”
“What did he say?”
“He said Stan had been a pawn, a chess piece to move around because he was the only one who gave a shit. Which makes no sense. He promised me that Stan never killed anyone, but he didn’t know how to prove it. Why won’t he go to the police? Why won’t he tell the police what he knows? Stan deserves to be cleared of these charges, even if he’s dead. Right? Where’s the justice if my boys grow up with everyone thinking their uncle was a cold-blooded killer? I can’t— I don’t want them to suffer. To be bullied and ridiculed and—” She began to sob.
“Marie, I’m going to find Mitch. He’ll tell me.” Sean would make sure of that.
He hung up and was about to go back to Mitch’s house and crack his security system. He’d made a promise to himself that he wouldn’t break any serious laws now that he was married to Lucy, but in this instance he justified it because Mitch’s life might be in danger. At least, that’s what he told himself.
But he didn’t get a chance. Lucy called. “Can you meet me at Russo’s? I’m in the parking lot sitting in Detective Reed’s truck.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
When he arrived, he slipped into the backseat of Detective Reed’s dark-blue King Cab Ford.
“Lucy, Detective. Good to see you again.”
Reed caught his eye in the rearview mirror. “You’d better not have been lying to me the other day about the courthouse.”
“No, ma’am.”
“You didn’t tell me you were working with a damn reporter.”
“You didn’t ask. You asked me specifically what I was doing at the courthouse, and I honestly told you I was escorting Mr. Grant and his sister out because Mr. Grant felt that there was a threat to their lives, which was proven true.”
“Semantics.”
“Ask better questions.”
Lucy intervened. “We followed Robert Clemson here from his house. We interviewed him again tonight, just a follow-up, and he was acting suspicious.”
“He fucking lied to me, and I don’t like liars,” Reed interjected.
Lucy said, “Clemson is fifty, six feet tall, wearing a white button-down shirt, no tie, and khakis. Glasses. He’d recognize us, so we can’t go in. We’re pretty sure he’s meeting someone. He left his house not ten minutes after we talked to him. Don’t engage, just tell us who he talks to, and if you can discreetly get a picture that would be great.”
“Discretion is my middle name, sweetheart.”
Lucy couldn’t help but laugh. Sean leaned over, kissed her, and climbed out of the truck.
Reed said, “How’d you two meet?”
“My brothers work with Sean.”
“Security.”
“Yeah. Runs in the family, I guess. I have a sister who’s a detective in San Diego, one of my brothers is a former cop married to an ADA, and my oldest brother is a forensic psychiatrist.”
“And you’re the lone federal agent.”
“Two of my sisters-in-law are agents, both SSAs, one at Quantico and one in Sacramento.”
“You’re all spread out. I have a brother and sister, local. Four nieces and nephews—two each. My parents live five miles from my house. I’m never leaving, and I threatened my siblings that if they leave I’m arresting them.”
“We’re close, but our careers have taken us in different directions.”
Lucy was feeling homesick again. She didn’t know why—she loved San Antonio. And it wasn’t that she wanted to move back to San Diego or to DC … she just wanted to see her family more than she did.
Like for Thanksgiving.
Sean immediately spotted Clemson alone in a booth in Russo’s bar. A small but classy restaurant was attached to the dark and intimate bar, which catered to couples or private business meetings. Sean sat at the bar where he could watch Clemson in the mirror.
“What’s your poison?” the bartender asked.
Sean glanced over to what they had on draft. He noted a decent selection of local microbrews represented and asked for Ranger Creek on tap.
He put ten bucks on the bar and kept Clemson in sight. He was drinking whiskey and had already drained his first glass.
A fortyish woman came in from the restaurant side of the bar. She was dressed impeccably in a classy cocktail dress, white with black trim, her dark-blond hair molded up around her head in one of those sleek, twisty styles that Sean marveled at.
She walked right over to Clemson and sat down. She looked irritated. She said something. Sean couldn’t hear any of their conversation, and he wished Lucy were here, because she was much better at reading lips.
He took out his phone, pretended to text, and took a couple pictures, shooting into the mirror. He didn’t use his flash and the images were on the dark side, but he could enhance them to get a good view of the woman.
The woman did most of the talking. She didn’t smile, didn’t look like she wanted to be there at all. Less than a minute later she rose, said one thing to Clemson with her back turned to Sean, and returned to the restaurant half of the establishment without a look at anyone else in the bar.
Clemson looked more worried now than he did when Sean came in.
Sean said to the bartender, “Send that poor guy over there another drink, on me.” He put a twenty down on the bar. “Looks like his girlfriend just dumped him.”
The bartender gave Sean a half grin, then brought the drink over to Clemson. A minute later, Clemson came over and sat next to Sean. “Thanks.”
“You look like your dog died or your girl left. I know how both feel. Though I miss my dog more.”
“Dogs don’t give you bullshit.”
“Damn straight.” Sean tapped his mug against the whiskey glass. He wondered how many Clemson had before he got here.
Sean could get people to talk in a variety of ways, but with a guy like Clemson, who might be involved in something illegal and definitely was acting suspicious, the best way was just to let him talk on his own and gently push him along when there was an opportunity.
It took about two minutes. Sean drained his beer, said, “Thanks, buddy,” to the bartender, and got up to leave.
“Have another with me,” Clemson said.
Sean looked at his watch. “I guess I have a little time.” He sat back on the stool. “I’m Sean.”
“Robert.”
Clemson motioned for the bartender to get Sean a beer, but he was still nursing his whiskey.
“Haven’t seen you here before.”
“I’ve been here a few times. Usually at the restaurant with my ex,” Sean said. “Love their veal parm. Since we split a couple months back, I now sit in the bar, especially after a shitty day at work.”
“What do you do?”
“Computer programmer.” He always stuck with a job that he could easily bluff.
“Smart guy.”
Sean shrugged. “It pays the bills. You?”
“I own Southern Supply. We provide tiles, bricks, trim, things like that, to builders. Primarily new homes, but we have a warehouse open to the public.”
“Over off Guadalupe, right? Way out there, in the county?”
“Yeah.”
“I put in an apartment over my garage last year, picked up all the tile there. Got a good deal because of a manufacturing flaw or something—but once I got it in, I couldn’t tell.” While Sean had put a studio apartment above his garage, he’d hired someone to do it and had no idea where they got their supplies.
“Remainders are great, really good deals for do-it-yourselfers.”
Sean sipped his second beer. Clemson stared at himself in the mirror and sighed.
“Was that hot blonde your ex? I wasn’t prying, I saw her reflection. A looker.”
“God, no. What a ball-breaker. She’s my lawyer, trying to get me out of a prickly financial situation. Have you ever made a mistake—just a little mistake—and it snowballed into an avalanche?”
“Once or twice,” Sean said.
“And no matter what I do, the damn avalanche doesn’t stop.” He drained his whiskey. “I’d better go. The last thing I need is for her husband to see me.”
Odd comment, Sean thought, for someone clearly not having an affair.
“Thanks for the beer. Drive safe,” Sean said.
“You too.”
Sean waited for him to leave, then texted Lucy:
He’s leaving. He met for less than three minutes with a woman, here’s the best pic I got. Said she’s his lawyer and he’s in a “prickly” financial situation. I’ll be out in a couple minutes.
Sean didn’t want the second beer. He put a generous tip under the glass and got up, heading toward the entrance. The bar and restaurant were separated by a small waiting area. A long hall led to the restrooms and kitchen.
At the same time, the blonde was walking toward him. But it wasn’t the blonde who caught Sean’s eye; it was the man walking behind her.
Sean went quickly down the hall toward the restrooms and slipped inside. His heart was beating, but he didn’t think Harrison Monroe saw him. And he might not recognize Sean, though Sean couldn’t count on that. If he were a guy like Monroe, he would have done the research and known who was who.
He just couldn’t take the chance.
From the bathroom, he texted Lucy:
Harrison Monroe is here with the lawyer. I think it’s his wife. Will confirm in a second.
Sean searched for Faith Parker Monroe and there was little on her. But he did find a photo in a magazine where she was quoted about a case she had pursued against a corporation. He didn’t have time to read about the case, but the woman in the photo was clearly a younger version of the woman he saw in the bar.
What was Robert Clemson doing with Faith Monroe as his lawyer? This was a hell of a big coincidence—and then not wanting to be seen by her husband? They didn’t act like lovers or ex-lovers. She had the attitude of someone who was in charge, and Clemson was worried. Concerned.
“A prickly financial situation.”
Sean waited three minutes, then left.