Chapter 17

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Jared cradled his head in his hands. How could Snake be dead? The craving for a hit roared through his body like a runaway train. He rocked back and forth, pressing his hands against his temples in an effort to banish the desire.

No, he wouldn’t succumb. He wouldn’t go back down that path. He’d been clean for months and liked the way his brain completed thoughts and his body didn’t vibrate when he needed a fix.

But Snake’s murder shook him to the core. The cops wouldn’t come knocking on his door, not when he’d cut ties to the drug community three years ago. No one had seen him visit Snake on Wednesday night. He’d carefully wiped his fingerprints from the bills and plastic bag before handing the bundle to Snake.

His grand scheme to cast suspicion about Melender’s involvement with the kidnapping by slowly leaking some of the ransom money out through a drug dealer had imploded. Jared slumped against the back of his leather couch, closing his eyes. If only his dad hadn’t severely curtailed his allowance after learning about his drug habit. Back then, Jared needed money, and the opportunity to make some quick cash when Jesse disappeared had won out. But after the ransom pickup, Jared had overheard an FBI agent discussing how the bills could be traced through special markings and serial numbers. Which meant he’d ended up with a million dollars he couldn’t spend.

A rapid knock on the door broke into his thoughts. Jared wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe he hadn’t completely removed his prints from the bills. The person knocked again, harder this time.

“Jared, I know you’re home. Open up.”

His father, not a man you ignored. Jared pulled open the door. Quentin pushed past him into the condo, fury stamped across his taut features. His dad didn’t give him a chance to speak before he exploded.

“What on earth were you thinking?”

No way Quentin knew about Snake and the ransom money. Best to stay quiet until Jared figured out what had gotten his father all riled up.

“Don’t just stand there, acting like you don’t know what I’m talking about.” Quentin’s voice dropped to a controlled tone, which scared Jared more than his first outburst.

Before Jared could decide whether to agree or bluff his way out, Quentin continued.

“Ruby showed me the photos of Melender’s apartment.”

Jared’s body nearly sagged with relief. This wasn’t about Snake’s death. This was about Ruby’s request. “Dad, she begged me for the name of someone to harass Melender. You know how Ruby can get. She wasn’t going to let this go.”

“You thought giving her a criminal’s contact info was the right choice?” Quentin paced across the living room and peered out of the window.

“If I hadn’t, she would have found more trouble trying to do it on her own.” His father’s loud harrumph revealed he still needed to be convinced. “She called me the day after our family dinner, crying about how much she missed Jesse. Then she asked me for the name of someone who could—and I’m quoting her exact words—‘put enough pressure on Melender to make her reveal where she hid Jesse.’”

Quentin didn’t turn around.

“I gave her the name of someone I knew would treat it like a business proposition. After all, I didn’t want her asking the wrong person for the job.”

“A business proposition.” Quentin turned to face Jared. “Your stepmother has agreed to not contact this person again. I want you to tell this individual that he is not to accept another job from my wife. If Ruby does contact him, he’s to come directly to me.”

Jared nodded, catching a glint of moisture in Quentin’s eyes before he bowed his head. For the first time, Jared realized his dad keenly felt the loss of Jesse and the turmoil it had created in their family. All these years, Jared had only seen Ruby’s outward grief in her rage and crying bouts, not his father’s inward sorrow. That his father cared deeply about what had happened surprised him, but shouldn’t have. The signs had been there, had Jared been self-aware enough to read the map. He took a few tentative steps toward his father. “Dad?”

Quentin raised his head, his eyes meeting Jared’s.

“I’m sorry.” That didn’t cover everything he wanted to say, but Jared couldn’t put into words how much in this moment, he regretted being blind to father’s grief.

Quentin laid a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “I know, son.” He squeezed his shoulder, then turned toward the door.

Jared clicked the deadbolt after his departure. He flopped onto the couch, resting his head against the back cushion. His father could never find out about the ransom money. It would kill him to lose another son.

* * *

“Hey,Brogan, what are you doing here?” Seth Whitman leaned over the cubicle wall.

“Just a sec.” Brogan finished typing the final sentence on his story about next week’s upcoming debate between candidates for Fairfax County Commonwealth Attorney. “Trying to finish this story.”

“I figured you’d be down at the police station.” Seth unwrapped a piece of butterscotch candy and popped it in his mouth.

“That’s your beat.” Brogan wasn’t up to playing twenty questions with the younger reporter and photographer. He hadn’t slept well last night. Thoughts of Melender had intruded long after his head hit the pillow.

“Yeah, but I thought you’d have heard by now.” Seth glanced at his phone. “It’s been more than twelve hours since the discovery.”

A part of him wanted to tune Seth out, but his reporter’s antenna rose enough that he’d hear Seth out. The beefy young man had taken a shine to Brogan, often dropping by his desk to chat. He’d once asked Seth why he hadn’t been snapped up by a larger, more prestigious paper given his stellar academic background. Seth replied that he’d chosen to pay his dues the old-fashioned way. Personally, Brogan thought Seth was nuts, but he didn’t say that.

“Just tell me, already.” Brogan picked up his empty mug. “I know you’re dying to.”

Seth stepped back as Brogan rose, then trailed him to the breakroom. “It has to do with the Jesse Thompson kidnapping.”

Brogan whirled around to pin Seth with a hard stare. “What did you say?”

Seth took a step back. “Whoa, don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Sorry.” Brogan continued to the breakroom. He sniffed the pot of caffeinated coffee sitting on a warmer and decided it was fresh enough. “Tell me everything.”

“There was a homicide last night, some drug dealer named TJ Williams, but everyone knows him as Snake.” Seth hoisted himself onto the opposite counter as Brogan poured coffee into his mug. “I was asking the regular questions, trying to see if there was a bigger story than a garden-variety murder.”

Brogan dumped one single-serve coffee creamer into his mug, then stirred as he listened to Seth.

“On the surface, it appeared to be nothing more than a drug deal gone bad. But then one of my sources revealed that a packet of money had been found. A bundle of tens and twenties that added up to twenty thousand dollars.”

Brogan straightened. “Part of the ransom money paid in Thompson kidnapping case?”

“That’s what my source says, but, of course, no one will confirm it.” Seth hopped down. “Not yet, anyway. I know the two detectives assigned to the murder visited Melender this morning when she got off work to ask her about the cash.”

“What happened?” Part of the ransom turning up now could mean their questions were making someone uncomfortable enough to try to pull Melender back into the frame for the ransom.

Seth shrugged. “I haven’t been able to find out. The detectives aren’t talking, and my source doesn’t know anything more.”

“Thanks for telling me.” Brogan moved toward the breakroom door.

“Hey, you’ll let me know Melender’s reaction?”

Brogan turned back. He met Seth’s cocky grin with a smile of his own. “Perhaps. But I’m after a much bigger story than a drug dealer’s murder.”

Seth became serious. “I know, but if this murder is connected with whoever’s responsible for the ransom…” He didn’t have to finish the sentence. Brogan heard the warning behind the unspoken words.

“I’ll be careful.” He considered what to do next. “Any chance your source knows where the detectives in charge of the murder typically eat lunch?”

“I think my source can find out. I’ll text you the info.”

“Appreciate it.” Back at his desk, Brogan sipped his coffee. Ambushing the detectives at a restaurant might not put him in their good graces, but since he didn’t want to officially request an interview, it might work. The fact of their visit to Melender already told him the money had indeed been traced to the ransom bills. He’d have to get her side of the story later, but for now, a chat with the detectives might prove fruitful. If nothing else, it would alert them someone was seriously looking into the case again.

* * *

At Anita’s Mexican Restaurant,Brogan settled into the booth with a clear eye of the door. At one o’clock, the small eatery on Fairfax Boulevard was fast filling up with the lunch crowd, which included numerous members of law enforcement. He counted several police officers and fire personnel among the uniformed patrons. By 1:15, not a seat remained open when Detectives Lauren Collier and Mark Livingston walked in.

The hostess greeted them, then pointed to Brogan’s booth. He’d slipped her a twenty to seat the pair with him should the restaurant be full when the detectives—who ate at Anita’s every Friday like clockwork—showed up. Brogan raised a hand in greeting.

The detectives exchanged glances, then Livingston shrugged, and they walked to his booth. Brogan stood as they approached. “Detective Collier, Detective Livingston. I’m Brogan Gilmore with the Herald.”

At the mention of his affiliation, Collier firmed her lips.

“What a coincidence to run into the two people I had on my list to call today.” Brogan smiled.

“A coincidence.” Livingston glanced around the restaurant that had no empty tables. “What tune do you expect us to sing for our lunch?”

Brogan raised his hands. “I just need some background. Strictly off the record, I promise.”

“In that case, let’s order.” Livingston slid into the booth opposite where Brogan had been sitting. “I’m starving.”

His partner eased in beside him, her demeanor that of an animal not sure if the situation warranted fight or flight.

Brogan retook his seat as a waitress approached.

“What can I get you to drink?” She addressed the question to Brogan, who gestured toward the detectives. “I already know what they want. Iced tea and a Diet Coke.”

“In that case, I’d like a bottle of Perrier poured over ice, please. I’m guessing you two don’t need a minute to look over the menu.”

Collier smiled. “Benita knows our orders.”

Brogan handed Benita his menu. “I’ll have the carnitas enchilada with a side of guacamole.”

“Now tell us what you want to know, ‘off the record.’” Livingston made air quotes as he spoke.

From Seth’s source, Brogan had heard that Livingston, a twenty-year veteran on the force, had a no-nonsense style, while his partner of five years had a reputation of being thorough and fair. As a team assigned to Fairfax County’s homicide division, Collier and Livingston had racked up an impressive record of closing hard cases.

Benita set down their drinks, two complimentary salsa dishes, and a large basket of warm tortilla chips.

Brogan slipped a straw into his drink. No sense beating around the bush. “I heard you found some of the ransom money from the Thompson kidnapping on a murder victim.”

“Where did you hear that?” Collier said, her eyes spitting fire.

“He’s a reporter, so he’s not going to reveal his sources.” Livingston dipped a chip into the salsa and ate it, as calm as if they were all relaxing poolside with frozen drinks in their hands. “Let’s go on the assumption that what Gilmore heard is correct. What is your interest?”

“Melender Harman’s out of jail and in the area, but you already know that because you visited her this morning to ask about the money.” Brogan resisted the chips, concentrating instead on trying to get a read on the detectives sitting opposite him. “What you might not know is that her aunt, Ruby Harman Thompson, accosted Melender last week.”

“Accosted?” Livingston sounded only mildly interested, but Brogan sensed tension coiling inside the man.

“Mrs. Thompson screamed at Melender and tried to physically attack her while Melender was working.” Brogan sipped his sparkling water.

“And you know this how?” Collier’s turn to ask a question.

“Because I witnessed the exchange.” Brogan succinctly recapped that encounter.

Benita returned, balancing a tray with steaming plates of food, placing Brogan’s enchilada and side of guacamole on the table, then putting down a trio of tacos in front of Livingston and a massive chimichanga in front of Collier. Service was quick at Anita’s, which added to its popularity with law enforcement. With a quick glance at their still-full beverages, Benita left.

Livingston picked up a taco and took a bite. Brogan followed his lead and dug into his enchilada after adding a large dollop of guacamole on top. For a few minutes, nobody spoke as they ate.

Two tacos down, Livingston wiped his mouth. “You’re looking into the Thompson case.”

The statement didn’t surprise Brogan. He chewed, then swallowed his mouthful slowly to give himself time to consider how to answer. Simplicity seemed the best course. “Yes.”

“Why? It’s a closed case.” Collier had made short work of her lunch. “The ransom money turning up now is simply a loose end. Melender Harman’s out of jail and was trying to launder the ransom. She can’t be tried twice for the same crime, so she figured it was worth a shot. A million dollars is a lot, especially for an ex-convict.”

“You were looking into this before the ransom money came to light.” Livingston tossed his napkin onto his clean plate. He appeared to study Brogan for a moment, then nodded. “She’s a beautiful woman. Prison life doesn’t seem to have taken a toll on her.”

Brogan schooled his face with an effort. Melender’s outward beauty had nothing to do with his interest in her case. Maybe if he kept telling himself that, he’d actually believe it. “It’s an intriguing case that has a lot of anomalies.”

“Such as?” Collier said.

“The missing ransom money and the lack of a body top the list.” Brogan finished his own meal just as Benita stopped by their table.

“All finished?” She didn’t wait for a response as she picked up empty plates. “Be right back with your checks.”

Livingston drained his Diet Coke. “I admit that not finding anything to place Melender with the ransom is a loose end I would like to tie up. The missing body is another.”

Brogan leaned forward. “I’ve got the FBI files from the kidnapping. Any chance I could have copies of the police files related to the case?”

Benita dropped off the checks, reminding them to pay at the cash register on their way out. Brogan grabbed all three, but Livingston responded that department policy forbade comped meals.

Check in hand, Collier moved to exit the booth. “You’ll have to file a FOIA request with our media relations department.”

“I already did, but they said it could take weeks to process.” Brogan switched his attention to Livingston. “Look, I’m not on a crusade to prove the police or FBI dropped the ball with this case, but I do think there are some things that don’t add up.”

Livingston stood beside his partner. “Do you have a business card?”

Brogan dug out his wallet and extracted one. “Here you go.”

The detective shoved it into his pocket. “We’ll be in touch if there’s anything we can do to expedite the request.”

“Thanks.” Brogan joined them beside the table, then shook hands with each detective. “I appreciate your talking with me.”

“As long as what we discussed stays off the record.” Livingston and Collier walked to the cash register. Brogan retook his seat, pulling out his phone to check for messages. The impromptu meeting had gone better than expected, and he had learned one very important thing.

Detective Mark Livingston still had unresolved questions about the closed case.