The lawyer looked worried.
When Clara’s laughter turned to giggles, Catherine said, “If you make a full confession, from Becca McCarthy to the present, I’ll talk to the AUSA about not charging the death penalty. You’ll get life in prison.”
“I’m not going to prison,” Clara said with a smirk. “Garrett did everything. I was forced to help.”
“No jury will believe that.”
Suddenly, Clara looked panicked, her eyes wide, and the tears came, almost on cue. “He, he would hurt me. I loved him—Ijust wanted to make him happy! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I would never have done anything like this. It’s awful!”
Then, as quickly as the tears came, they were gone.
Now Catherine laughed. “We have evidence, Clara. Your games won’t work here. You have federal charges. If you slip away? Florida. Then multiple states will get a shot at prosecuting you for nearly two dozen criminal blackmail schemes. A wrongful death charge in Scottsdale—yeah, you think you got away scot-free there? Think again. And there are a few other suspicious deaths at resorts while you worked there. DNA was collected, and we now have yours.” Catherine rose. “And then you’ll face the case of killing Becca McCarthy. So even if you get off on all these cases, it’ll take years. So don’t be so smug, because my guess? The federal jury is going to convict you on all counts.”
She walked out. She’d had enough. She wished she never had to see Clara Dolan again. At least, not until her trial.
She could rot in prison for all Catherine cared.
Epilogue
Garrett had followed the legal case of Clara Dolan for the past four months. He wasn’t going to get another chance.
He’d considered disappearing. That would be the smart thing to do. The unemotional thing to do. The police thought he was dead... or they didn’t. He didn’t know; he didn’t care.
But Becca deserved justice.
It was nearly time.
No one really saw the homeless, so he lay on a bench, face unshaven, hat pulled low, layers of dirty old clothing. And he waited.
He knew the police in Ventura County had found Becca’s remains. Her family would have closure, a body to bury. At least he had done one good thing before he finished it.
He had a prepaid cell phone with one number he’d put in it. He dialed it now.
“Quinn,” the female voice answered.
“Hello, Kara.”
A long silence. Then: “Garrett?”
“She was going to kill me. The boat was rigged to explode when it reached a certain speed—she knew I would come by water—so I disabled it. But she had a backup plan, so I bailed.”
“You need to turn yourself in.”
“I am.”
“Good.”
“But first things first. Thank you for following up and finding Becca’s body.”
“That was the local police.”
“They listened to you.”
“It was a good lead.”
“Are you still with that fed?”
“I am.”
