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Dave sighed. “Hell, Garrett.”
“I wish I hadn’t done it,” Garrett said. “But…he begged. Insisted, actually. Said he needed space from her. Said I owed him.”
Pete rolled his eyes. “Not this again. Kent saved our asses in the sandbox once. Never let us forget it.”
“I see,” Kit murmured. Yeah, Crawford was a total douchebag. “So he did actually spend the arranged golf trips with you?”
All three nodded. “He never missed a trip,” Pete said.
At least he told his wife a partial truth, she thought. “Did he describe this woman to you, Garrett?”
Garrett shook his head. “No. I’m sorry. If I knew, I’d tell you.”
She believed him. Mostly. “Okay. Thank you for your time, gentlemen. If you think of anything else that can help us, we’d appreciate it.”
“Wait,” Connor said. “Let’s go back to Mr. Crawford’s black AmEx card. Do any of you remember where he last used the card?”
That was a good question, because Crawford’s wallet had been stolen from his motel room and his wife hadn’t mentioned a black AmEx.
Kit searched her memory for black card details. They were highly exclusive and cardholders had to have a lot of money in the bank. Not in real estate or other assets, but cold hard cash. Connor would remember exactly how much but she thought it was somewhere around a million bucks.
Where had Kent Crawford gotten that much money? Because his joint checking account with Denise had only about eight hundred dollars and their savings was only about five grand.
Kit assumed an illegal enterprise. Had Frankie Flynn found out? Was that why he was dead? Except Crawford had died at least a day before Flynn, so that didn’t make sense.
“He bought dinner for the four of us at that fancy steak house in Vegas this past Easter,” Pete said. “Dinner was about two hundred a person and we had wine. I couldn’t afford it, but Kent insisted it was his treat.”
Garrett nodded. “The tab was at least eleven hundred bucks. It was Good Friday, I remember. He used the card to pay his hotel bill at the MGM, too. Why?”
“Because we’d like to find the bank account that he used to pay that card,” Kit said honestly. “His wife didn’t know anything about it and it’s not linked to any of the accounts I uncovered. That money trail might lead to his killer.”
“I can get that for you,” Dave said wearily. “I managed his personal investments. He had an account offshore. Started modestly at about a hundred grand about ten years ago. He’s added a fair bit every year, and I’ve grown it for him.”
Wow. Kit half wished she could ask Dave to manage her money. Ha-fucking-ha. Like there was any to manage.
“So now it’s large enough that he can get a black AmEx card?” Connor asked.
Dave sighed. “Yes. Detectives, you’ll need a warrant, but I’ll get all the information together so that when the paperwork goes through, I can hand over the account details right away. I can’t just give it to you. I hope you understand.”
Dammit. Kit had hoped he wouldn’t make them get a warrant. But at least they knew what to ask for. And the connection to a former homicide lieutenant’s murder would expedite the paperwork.
“Thank you,” she said. “We appreciate your help, and we are very sorry for your loss.”
“Safe travels home,” Connor added.
“Same to you, Detectives,” Pete said. “I still can’t believe Kent lied to us like that. At least now I know why he didn’t want me to be his accountant. You could manage his money with enough distance, Dave, but I would have had access to his earning statements. I would have known he couldn’t afford what he was spending. I’ll admit that it hurt my feelings when he outright refused to hire my firm but used yours. Now I think I dodged a bullet.”
“Yeah,” Dave agreed. “You did.”
As Kit and Connor left the room, all three men sagged wearily, the truth of their loss starting to sink in.
“Crawford’s got layers,” Connor said once they were back in the department sedan.
“Like an onion,” Kit said sourly. “Stinks as bad as one, too. None of this makes sense. Crawford died on Saturday morning and Flynn died sometime between Sunday at ten and Monday at ten. Crawford couldn’t have killed Flynn personally.”
“No,” Connor agreed. “I wonder if Mr. Flynn’s friends knew if he suspected that Crawford was dirty.”
“Let’s go ask them. Benny should have woken up from his sedative last night. Hopefully he’ll be having a better day today. And if he doesn’t know, hopefully Georgia will.”
