“My personal theory,” says Louise, “is that Marlow was counting the money and Finley tried to attack him—y’know, catch him off guard. Marlow had a weapon ready and stabbed him. Spattered blood on the money.”
“The blood on the money is Finley’s?”
“We’re running DNA tests,” says Louise, “but if that blood isn’t Finley Brice’s, I’m the queen of England.”
Bruce laughs, then nods for a long time, digesting everything. “That it?”
“No,” says Cutty. “After about thirty minutes, give or take, Finley’s car was on the move again.”
“Ah. Right. He had to dump the body. But he didn’t want to use his own truck. Makes more sense just to use Finley’s Wagoneer.”
“That’s what we think, yes. Finley’s cell phone gets turned off then. Marlow probably realized it wasn’t a good idea for Finley’s phone to be active while he drove him to his burial site. But we have the license plate cameras. They track Finley’s Wagoneer up to Grace Park, where he dumped the body at a residential construction site.”
“Why Grace Park?” Bruce asks.
“Two reasons,” says Louise. “One, he wanted the body far away from him, away from Cicero. Several towns over, at least.”
“Makes sense.”
“And two, he knew of this construction site in Grace Park,” she says.“Because he worked on that job site for a couple weeks in March.”
“No shit.”
“No shit. He did some excavation work. This fancy home on a double lot on Cherry Oak Avenue in Grace Park that belonged to one of Al Capone’s former lieutenants back in the day. We got a list of every worker on the worksite where the body was dumped. We’ve had Marlow Luckett’s name on a damn list since day one. But he didn’t jump out immediately at us.”
“So anyway, he dumped Finley’s body in the dumpster and…”
“And drove back to Cicero. Parked Finley’s Jeep Wagoneer about a mile from his house. So not too close to home, but close enough that he can walk home after ditching the Jeep.”
Bruce slaps his hands down on the table. “Is he talking?”
“Marlow? No. His lawyer’s got his mouth sealed tighter than a knot in a rope.”
“Well.” Bruce lifts himself from his seat. “Looks like game, set, and match for Mr. Luckett. Oh, hey.” He snaps his fingers. “So…Allison Brice?”
“Home all night on April first,” says Louise. “Or at least, her phone stayed put. So did her car.”
“And Luke?”
“Same. Never left his house.”
“I’ll be damned.” Bruce removes his glasses and rubs his eyes. “Think I’ll stick around for the interview with Allison, now that she’s willing to talk tous.”
April Fools’Day
67
Allison
—11:10 p.m.—
The town of Cicero is sleepy as a frigid midnight approaches, save a few living room windows emitting the glow of televisions. The 1300 block of South Cedar Street is narrow, with cars lined up fender to bumper on each side. I pass Marlow’s house on my right, reach the end of the block, and turn right, rolling the Wagoneer forward until I’m near the alley.
I send a final message from Finley’s phone to mine:I’m truly sorry for all the pain I caused you. I love you and Grayson more than anything.I hit send and whoosh away Finley’s last words to me. If only he’d said anything like that when it counted.
Luke should be receiving that message now. That will be his cue for the very last thing I need from him tonight.
I grab Finley’s fancy Italian leather gym bag and leave the car. Marlow’s is the third house from the corner. I should be able to access his backyard from the alley. If I’m fenced off completely, I’ll probably just toss the bag over the fence and hope it lands behind a bush. But if I can access his backyard, I’ll stow the bag somewhere. Someplace not too obvious, but not so expertly hidden that a team of police officers executing a search warrant couldn’t find it.
