Fatal Fortune, Page 3

  “What Candice had done?” I repeated, looking from Brice to Dutch. “Guys . . . what’d she do?”

  But Brice didn’t seem able to say anything more, so Dutch reached for his iPad and handed it to me. “Brice was able to get a copy of the tape,” he said.

  My brow furrowed. “What tape?”

  “Surveillance tape from a parking garage at the airport. I should warn you—it’s bad.”

  I took another deep breath and tapped at the screen until it lit up and displayed a frozen image of a nearly empty parking garage. The camera was angled down—it’d probably been mounted to the corner of the building—and for the first five seconds or so there wasn’t much to look at, but then a yellow Porsche came into view and parked in the space almost directly across from the camera. I recognized Candice’s car right away. As soon as she parked, a man came into view at the opposite end of the screen. He seemed to be walking straight for the car, pulling his luggage with one hand and holding a phone in the other. As he got to within a few feet of the car, the door opened and out stepped Candice. I recognized the new Burberry white coat she’d brought back from Vegas, as I’d greatly admired it the first time she wore it to the office.

  Candice stood next to the car and the man continued to approach. It seemed he was quite happy to see her. Or maybe he was relieved. The quality of the tape was good—much better than the grainy images one usually sees—and I was about to ask who he was when Candice reached inside her coat and withdrew a gun. In the next second there was a flash and a terrible spray of red as the man’s head snapped back, and then he dropped like a sack.

  My hands came up to cover my mouth as I gasped in horror. And then my best friend in the whole world calmly lowered her arm, got back into the car, closed the door, and backed out of the space. She drove away without even looking back.

  The tape continued to run for several more seconds and all I could do was sit there in stunned disbelief as a pool of blood formed all around the man lying flat on his back, so obviously dead. Toward the very end of the tape a security guard came running into view. He knelt by the victim, then reached for his cell to call it in. That’s when the tape ended.

  I opened my mouth to say something, but my vocal cords seemed paralyzed. I tore my gaze from the screen and looked first at Brice, who was staring hard at the floor, and then at Dutch, whose face was pinched with concern. And that’s when I knew how truly bad this was. Dutch’s cop face is made of granite. He’s impossible to read even in the worst of scenarios because he closes down all emotion and it’s “just the facts, ma’am.” But here he was looking like he’d just been punched in the gut, much like I was feeling, and his expression said more than anything that our lives had all just permanently changed.

  “It’s a mistake,” I rasped, willing myself to say something, anything, to reject what I’d just seen.

  “It’s no mistake,” Brice said, so softly that I almost didn’t hear him. “That’s Candice’s car. Her coat. Her gun. It’s her.”

  I turned my attention back to the video, blinking hard as I rewound the tape to just before the car door opened. I let it play and squinted at the screen. I watched the door open, and out came her left leg. I recognized her boots. They were new just like the coat. White calfskin Ferragamo boots. I’d drooled over them just the day before in fact. I’d seen Candice briefly in the morning when I’d gone into the office to pay some bills and schedule a few appointments. I hadn’t had any readings, but I’d stopped to chat with my BFF before leaving and I’d taken note of those gorgeous boots.

  I’d mentally noted that Candice seemed to have spent a good deal of money in Vegas, but I hadn’t thought it was anything to be alarmed about because Candice had been left a small fortune by her grandmother, and truth be told, she was doing pretty well as a PI here in Austin. I knew for a fact that the shopping in Vegas was amazing, and it hadn’t surprised me that she’d taken advantage of all the designer-label stores on the Strip.

  Besides, Candice always looked good. She wore nothing but the best—stylish without being overly flashy—something I’d always admired because, left to my own devices, I’d live in Lululemon yoga pants and hoodies.

  So even more than the coat and the boots, the way she exited the car so smooth and catlike convinced me that my BFF had been the woman in the video. The woman who’d just murdered an unarmed man in cold blood. It left me stunned, and breathless. I turned to Brice again, imagining what he must be feeling. He looked gutted. Just gutted by the magnitude of what was on that video.

  “Brice, I—”

  “What did she say on the voice mail, Abby?” Brice interrupted before I could say anything more. “What did she want you to do for her?”

  I bit my lip. Brice wasn’t asking. He was demanding. And I couldn’t tell him. As damning as that video was, I wasn’t ready to throw away my faith in my best friend, the woman who’d saved my life on more than one occasion. “She wanted me to lock up her laptop.”

  Brice’s eyes narrowed. “Lock up her laptop?”

  I nodded. I hadn’t seen Candice’s laptop when I’d entered her office. If she didn’t take it with her, she always locked it in the top drawer of her desk, and that’s where I assumed it might be.

  “Did you?” he asked. “Did you lock up her laptop?”

  I licked my lips nervously as both my boss and my husband eyed me closely. For the record I’m a terrible liar. Also for the record Candice can turn lying into an art form. She’d taught me that the secret to telling a lie is to pepper it with a little truth. So that’s what I did. I peppered. “When I got to the office, I didn’t see her laptop. It wasn’t on the desk or anywhere else in the office that I could find.”

  Dutch crossed his arms. I thought he might be on the fence about believing me. “Did someone take it?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think so. The place was neat as a pin, just like she usually keeps it. Nothing had been disturbed that I could tell.”

  Brice’s gaze shifted to Dutch. “What could be on the laptop?”

  “Don’t know. But my guess is once APD is done tossing your place, they’ll move on to the girls’ offices.”

  My eyes bugged. “Tossing what, now?”

  “That APD detective who came looking for Candice also came with a search warrant. I heard her on the phone ordering a patrol car to head to your offices and stand guard until she could get there to serve out the rest of the warrant.”

  My mind flashed to the two squad cars outside our office building. I figured I’d barely escaped their notice. At that moment the doorbell rang and I jumped.

  “That’ll be them,” Dutch said.

  “Them?” I repeated. “You mean the cops?”

  Dutch nodded.

  “They’ll want to talk to you, Abby,” Brice told me as Dutch turned toward the front door. “They’re looking for Candice and they’ll leave no stone unturned.” And then something flickered in his eyes and his gaze moved to my cell phone, which was on the counter next to me. “They’ll ask you if you’ve heard from her. If you tell them about the voice mail, they’ll want to hear it.” And then Brice gave me a meaningful look before turning away to go over to the coffeepot and pour himself some more coffee.

  I didn’t stick around for another hint. I grabbed my phone and hustled to the bedroom.

  Chapter Two

  • • •

  After closing and locking the door, I ran to the master bath and closed and locked that door too. Then I tapped at the screen of my iPhone until I’d pulled up the voice mail, but suddenly realized that deleting the message wouldn’t permanently remove it from the phone’s hard drive. I’d seen the bureau’s tech forensic specialist recall all sorts of deleted material off phones before. Still, I thought that might buy me a little time, so I went ahead and got rid of it and for added measure I turned the phone off completely. Then I looked around the bathroom for a hiding
place. Opening the cabinet door, I got down on my hands and knees and angled my cell up to wedge it between the sink and the cabinet, then quickly backed out, stood up, flushed the toilet, and ran the water for a minute before opening the door. Entering the kitchen from the living room, I saw Dutch bringing in a woman with long black curly hair, wearing a blue blazer and dress slacks. I’d put her in her mid-thirties. She walked with confidence and there was an intelligence in her eyes that I knew I shouldn’t underestimate.

  Self-consciously I ran a hand through my hair and stepped over to Brice. “Good morning,” she said, flashing her badge. “I’m Detective Grayson.”

  I shook my head and blinked. “Detective Grayson?” I repeated.

  “Miss Cooper, I presume?” she said, a slight smile to her lips. “Or should I say Mrs. Rivers?”

  I blushed in spite of myself. Although I’d only spoken to her on the phone, Detective Grayson had assisted Candice and me with an investigation into a series of suicide bombings that’d plagued the Austin area several months before. The case had very nearly blown up in our faces—literally—and although Grayson’s assistance had been rather minor, it’d still proven to be a crucial piece to the puzzle. To think she’d be the one leading the investigation into the Candice mess seemed a crazy coincidence.

  “It’s nice to finally meet you, Detective,” I said, sticking out my hand to shake hers. “And thank you again for helping us with the bombing case.”

  Grayson’s grip was sure and strong, and I knew she caught the fact that my palm was sweaty. “I read all about what happened to you in the paper,” Grayson said. “Sounds like it was quite an ordeal for you, and on your wedding day to boot.”

  I shrugged. It’d been the worst experience of my life, but I couldn’t let myself be distracted by that awful day now. I was still reeling from what I’d seen on the tape, and wondering how much I should reveal to Grayson. “It wasn’t my best day, that’s for sure.”

  Grayson nodded like she understood completely. I’ll admit I was a little thrown by her demeanor. She appeared far too congenial given the situation.

  After letting go of my hand, she nodded to Brice. “Agent Harrison. I assume you’ve informed Mrs. Rivers of the events of this evening involving her business partner?”

  “Her business partner and my wife,” Brice said, his tone a little sharp. “She’s aware of the situation, Detective Grayson.”

  Grayson’s congenial manner never wavered. “Good,” she said. “Then we can get down to brass tacks. Mrs. Rivers—or is it Ms. Cooper? Which do you prefer?”

  I felt Dutch’s gaze land on me. This was a stupid bone of contention between us. I’d kept my last name because I was the independent, modern-woman type, and he really wanted me to take his last name because he was the traditional, caveman type. Right now, however, was not the time to pick a fight, so I settled for a happy medium. “We’re all friends here,” I said. “How about you call me Abby.”

  “Okay,” Grayson said. “Abby, when was the last time you saw or talked to your business partner, Candice Fusco?”

  “Yesterday morning.”

  Grayson pulled out a sleek silver pen and began writing in a notebook that looked dog-eared and filled with other notes. “I see,” she said, laying the notebook on the counter for easier writing. And then she seemed to notice the countertop. “Wow. I love this granite.”

  Dutch and I exchanged a look of surprise. “Thanks,” I said. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I could be all friendly-like and dodge most of the incriminating questions.

  Grayson focused back on her notes. “You say yesterday morning was the last time you spoke with your business partner?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did she seem?”

  I shrugged. “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “Yes.”

  “Define ‘fine,’” Grayson said, those intelligent eyes squinting a bit.

  I shrugged again. “She seemed unfettered. Normal. Business as usual.”

  “Are you two friends outside of work?”

  “Yes.”

  “How close are you?”

  “Close.”

  “Besties close?” she pressed.

  I sighed. She’d find out sooner or later. “Yes. Candice is my best friend and she’s also my business partner.”

  Grayson tapped her pen, and behind her I could see Brice scowling. He didn’t like her easy-breezy manner. I could hardly blame him given the circumstances.

  “And what time was this meeting you had yesterday?” Grayson asked next.

  I scratched my head. “It wasn’t a meeting,” I said, irritated that she seemed to be reading into my words. “I went to the office to catch up on some paperwork, and Candice was there. I poked my head in to say good morning and we chitchatted for a little bit before I left the office around eleven a.m.”

  “And you’re sure that’s the last time you saw or heard from her?”

  I swallowed hard but stuck to my guns. “Yes. Positive.”

  Grayson cocked her head. “I see,” she said. “You didn’t meet up with her somewhere within the past hour or so?”

  My brow furrowed and I felt my palms start to sweat again. “No.”

  Grayson set down her pen, that easy-breezy manner becoming more serious. “The hood of your car is warm, Abby. It’s a cool night out, so I can only assume the engine was running not long before I showed up.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Dutch edge a little closer to me. I knew he’d have my back no matter how I played this out. “I went for a drive,” I said.

  “In the middle of the night?” Grayson asked.

  “Yeah. I get insomnia and sometimes a car ride helps me relax enough to be able to get back to sleep.”

  Grayson cocked an eyebrow. She didn’t believe a word of it. “Where’d you go?”

  “Around.”

  “Around where?”

  I shrugged for a third time. “I like to drive in the hills. The view is nice.”

  Grayson blinked. “At four a.m.? What view can you see before dawn?”

  I felt a blush touch my cheeks. “The houses are usually lit up. There’re some really beautiful homes in this hood.”

  Grayson smiled, but it wasn’t an “I totally believe you” smile. It was more “Nice try, Miss Liar-liar-pants-on-fire.”

  “What do you know about the vic?” Brice asked, and I was grateful for the redirection.

  Grayson glanced his way and said, “All we know so far is that the vic was a sixty-three-year-old white male and a resident of Palm Springs, California.”

  “That’s it?” Brice pressed.

  Grayson looked at Brice in a way that suggested she wasn’t sure how much to tell him. True, Brice was FBI, but he was also married to the suspect in a murder investigation. At last she seemed to make up her mind and said, “No. That’s not it. He was also an MD.”

  My breath caught. Candice had killed a doctor? Up to that moment I had afforded my BFF some license in this whole murdering-a-man-in-cold-blood thing. I mean, I trusted Candice with my life because she was perhaps the smartest, most capable, most dependable person I’d ever known. There were even secret parts of me that thought I might perhaps trust her more than my own husband. And if she’d really shot someone in cold blood, well, then I was willing to believe she’d done it for a very good reason. Like the guy was a serial killer. Or a child molester. Or a hit man who’d been contracted to kill Brice. Or a serial-killing, child-molesting hit man who maybe also abused puppies and kittens. The point was that I knew my best friend, and she wasn’t a loose cannon. If she shot to kill, it was for a damn good reason.

  But what reason could Candice have to kill an unarmed doctor from Palm Springs? My eyes searched Brice’s face for an explanation, but he seemed as troubled and confused as I was.

  The
n Grayson pointed to me and Brice and said, “Does the name Dr. David Robinowitz mean anything to either of you?”

  I shook my head. I’d never heard of the guy. Brice shook his head too. “What was his specialty?” Brice asked.

  “We’re not sure,” Grayson said. “My team is still trying to track down his next of kin, but we may have to wait until midmorning our time before we can find someone who’s awake in California.”

  “Candice hasn’t been to California in years,” I said, knowing this all had to be one giant misunderstanding. “How would she even know of this doctor from Palm Springs?”

  Grayson wiggled her pen. “According to the doctor’s itinerary, he came into town on a direct flight from Las Vegas. His plane landed at eleven forty p.m. yesterday and he was shot at approximately twelve oh two this morning on an upper deck of short-term parking at ABIA.”

  A chill went through me as I remembered something from the previous morning’s conversation with Candice. We’d been talking about our schedules and I’d asked Candice if she might like to catch a movie with me later that evening. She’d declined, saying that she had a busy night of work lined up and that she had to pick up a package at ABIA for a client.

  I hadn’t thought anything of it. Candice worked plenty of cases without me and lately she’d been working all of her cases alone. I’d assumed we were working fewer investigations together because my BFF was pulling back on accepting the more dangerous cases for a while to give us both a break, and I hadn’t complained because I’d been settling into married life and building up my own private client list. The past six months had been a lovely vacation from all the mayhem and murder of previous years. I’d even been ducking my duties with the FBI because I just needed to step back and feel normal again. My routine had devolved into reading for private clients four days a week and puttering around our beautiful new home the rest of the time. It was wonderfully relaxed if also a bit dull.