THURSDAY NIGHT
Jennifer drove Lucy back to her car. They had discussed the possible implications of what Sean observed, and Lucy asked her, “You talked to the woman Clemson had drinks with that night. What was she like?”
“Smart, attractive, too young for the guy, but who am I to judge.”
“Where does she work?”
“I didn’t ask. But I have her name and address. Shall we go by?”
It was after eight, but Lucy thought it might be important. “Is it far?”
“A condo on the River Walk.”
“I’m ready.” Lucy texted Sean to give him the heads-up.
“You sure? You look tired.”
“I was up early to serve a warrant in Kerrville. It’s been a long day. But I’m good.”
“I was ready to go home after my shift and binge watch Netflix, but this is more fun.”
Max definitely had the wrong impression of Detective Reed, Lucy thought. She was a good cop, she liked her job, and she was willing to go above and beyond. Reed likely put up every barrier for reporters, Max included.
“Did you suspect anyone else before Stanley Grant confessed?” Lucy asked her.
“No. We looked at both her partners, Grant and Corta. But they didn’t click for me, and while Grant’s alibi was weak, he seemed to be sincere in his grief. But I’ve seen people kill and regret it—their grief is real, even if they have a streak of self-preservation. I looked heavier at Corta because ex and all, but his alibi was solid. I talked to the people up in Bandera, and there’s no way he could have gotten back in time to kill her. But the manner— She knew her killer. No defensive wounds, up close and personal like that.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“She didn’t have enemies that we could find—no restraining orders, no lawsuits against her or the company. And she hadn’t even dated much after her divorce. One ex-boyfriend we talked to—he didn’t click at all, he’d moved on, they hadn’t even dated that long. I wondered if she and her ex were still doing it, if you know what I mean.”
“Did you ask him?”
“Sure. I’m blunt. I wanted to know. He said that they were still good friends and worked well together, but didn’t answer the question. Seemed almost embarrassed that I’d asked, which I thought was both hilarious and weird. But I got the impression he still loved her, so I was looking at him—maybe he wanted her back, she didn’t want to go back, he stabs her in a fit of jealousy, I don’t know. But it didn’t fit, and again, his alibi was solid.” Jennifer glanced at her as she pulled into a visitor parking spot outside a pricey condo off the River Walk. “What’s with this Harrison Monroe?”
She explained what they knew about Harrison and his circle of friends, plus the illegal gambling accusation from college and the likelihood that he had a new operation locally. “Now three of the six are dead, and proving money laundering of ill-gotten gains has been difficult. Our white collar team is looking deep into Albright’s records, and as soon as I get them a thread they’ll look into Monroe as well. But I need that connection.” She hesitated, then added, “I should also tell you that Max is dating a federal agent—a white collar crime expert out of New York. She’s talked to him about it, though I haven’t. If I talk to him, I can’t keep it off the record, so to speak. I’ll have to go through channels or risk stepping all over my own office. And right now I have a good relationship with our White Collar Crimes unit.”
“What do they say?”
“They’re digging in, but it’s a long-tail investigation. Ryan told Max and Sean one thing, though, that they’re focused on—and that’s why I reached out to you. He talked about Al Capone, how hard it was to get him on murder and conspiracy, but easier to get him on tax evasion. We think the opposite is true with Monroe.”
“Why would he kill her? If she’s part of his conspiracy, why knock her off?”
“Max thinks it has something to do with Denise Albright’s body being found.”
Reed laughed. “Yeah, I’ll tell that to the judge. Great motive.”
“Hence, my dilemma. The Albright case is three years cold—but Victoria’s murder is fresh. It’s still open—even though you said you handed it to Vice.”
“Technically, I handed the Stanley Grant homicide to Vice. Gambling, eh?”
“That’s where Max leans. She talked to someone who was part of Monroe’s old network.”
“And Grant was a gambling addict.”
“That’s how Max started down that path, though everyone thought he was clean. And Grant told her he wasn’t gambling again.”
“I’ve dealt with addicts before. My ex-boyfriend was an alcoholic. I couldn’t take it anymore—the on and off the wagon. And he was a mean drunk, so I cut him loose. I had to for my sanity. When he was on the wagon, he was the nicest guy on the planet. But he couldn’t stop. My grandpa? He knew he couldn’t handle his booze, never drank. Gambling is like alcohol. Some people can overcome their addiction and stay clean, others can’t. Grant may have been clean for a while, but if he was around the lifestyle staying clean might have been impossible. Just one bet. One more bet. Just another … yeah, slippery slope.”
Jennifer got out of her truck. She looked at her phone, and said, “Randolph is in Three A, one of the luxury town houses. I sure can’t afford to live here.”
They looked at a map of the complex, located Melissa Randolph’s unit, and walked to the correct building.
They knocked. A moment later a woman came to the door.
Jennifer said, “Is Melissa Randolph available?”
“I’m sorry, she isn’t here.”
Jennifer showed her badge and identified herself. “When will she be back?”
“In a year or so.”
“A year?”
“She was transferred to Chicago. I’m leasing the place and taking care of her cats.”
“When did she leave?”
“In September—like around the fifteenth? Whatever the weekend around the fifteenth was.”
Jennifer glanced at Lucy. Lucy knew she was thinking about the timeline. Melissa had been interviewed about Clemson two days after Victoria’s murder, and only days later she’s gone. Clearly, she hadn’t said anything to Jennifer about it.
“Your name?”
“Diane Resnick.”
“Do you have some ID?”
“Is this necessary?”
“I expected Ms. Randolph to be here for follow-up questions as she’s a witness in a criminal case, but she’s not, so I need to make sure that you are who you say you are.”
“Oh. Yeah. One sec.” She closed the door and a minute later came back with her ID and a copy of her lease agreement. Lucy scanned it. It was simple and straightforward. Lucy took a picture of the signatory page just to confirm Randolph’s signature if they needed to.
“Where do you work?” Jennifer asked.
“I’m a receptionist for a law firm.”
“Which firm?”
“Um, Hollinger, Corben, Fuetes, and Parker.”
“And Ms. Randolph?”
“Um, the same?”
“Is that a question because you don’t know?”
“She works for Hollinger, too, as a paralegal. Mr. Hollinger and Mr. Corben are based in Chicago. Mr. Fuetes and Ms. Parker are in San Antonio.”
“Was this planned?” Jennifer asked. Lucy let her take charge because it was clear that Jennifer felt like she’d been played and if that was the case she would dig in.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“What I mean is, Ms. Randolph was a witness to a crime I am investigating. I talked to her, got her statement, and now need to clarify something in the statement. Yet she never told me she was leaving town.”
“I wouldn’t know. I just work in the same firm. It’s a big company. She sent out an email asking if someone could lease her place for a year and watch her cats, and I’d just broken up with my boyfriend and was living with a friend on the couch and this place is amazing. And she’s not even charging me what it would be worth because I’m taking care of the place and stuff.”
“Who’s her direct supervisor?”
“Well, Mr. Hollinger.”
“And before she left?”
“Ms. Parker.
“Faith Parker?” Lucy asked.
“Yes. Do I need to call her?”
“No,” Jennifer and Lucy said simultaneously.
Jennifer said, “Thank you for your time.”
Jennifer didn’t say a word until they got back to her truck. “Well, fuck this,” she said. She picked up her phone and called someone. “Mike?… It’s Jen Reed. I need a meet first thing in the morning, and I’m bringing a fed with me. I have a juicy case and we need to bring in all the big guns.”
“Who’s Mike?” Lucy asked when Jennifer hung up.
“Michael Flores. Assistant district attorney. We go way back, he’ll listen to me. So be prepared, because I need to sell this and it’s not going to be easy. But fuck if I’m going to have some prick and lawyer lie to me and make me a fool.”
“Jen?” Lucy said. “You are no fool.”