Page 66 of The Wedding Party

“The sooner I get back to work, the sooner that happens. I’ll be in touch when I’m back.” I turn for the door and she halts my progress.

“Andi?”

I rotate to face her. “Yes?”

“You won’t tell Carrie I told you about the box, right? I don’t want her to feel as if I stabbed her in the back. And if she’s a killer and gets off, I also don’t need another enemy. My ex is enough for me.”

“For now, there’s no issue with discretion, but we’ll talk about what needs to happen and when once we’re back in Denver.”

“You can’t tell her I told,” she insists.

There’s a panicked desperation to her words, and I certainly get it. She’s in an awkward position, but my job isn’t to ensure everyone’s comfort. It’s to deliver justice for all.

“We’ll talk,” I say, and this time when I turn, I leave.

I head back to the conference room where York is working with the team. “Interesting news,” he announces as I claim the seat across from him. “The Phoenix family made arrangements to transport Oliver when his body is released and then jumped on a chopper and left without talking to us. You’d think they’d want to be here, pressuring us to make an arrest. Most parents want to control the investigation.”

“They’ve now arranged to have Carrie exactly where they want her, in that treatment facility. They think they’re in control.”

“I’d still think they’d want to be right here, asking questions, driving answers,” he argues.

He’s right, of course, but I’m beginning to think the Phoenixes have something to hide, and that something may or may not have anything to do with their son’s murder. It’s time to start digging around in the Phoenixes’ lives. And that’s exactly what comes next. I make the calls and give the directions that will allow us to see behind the Phoenix family curtains.

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Twenty-four hours later, it’s headed toward midnight, and I’m in a hotel conference room, surrounded by detectives and with a bag of Funyuns in front of me, looking through the interviews. “Those things are disgusting,” York says, eyeing the big onion curl I stuff in my mouth.

“Funyuns are not only good, they smell like onion, and then so do you, therefore everyone stays away.” They won’t keep my father away, I add silently, but of course, I’m speaking of normal humans.

“I bet it won’t keep Ms. Littleton away. She’s been here how many times?”

“Three,” I say, sipping my Dr Pepper. We’re out of Mr. Pibb, and no matter how many times York tells me it’s the same thing, he’s wrong. “We finally agreed on the paperwork for Carrie’s treatment facility. I shot it over to my boss.”

“She’s inheriting millions,” he says. “We know who did this. Do we even need to finish our data on anyone else?”

That’s like asking my father if he really needs the baseball bat, I think. The answer is yes; we still need to see this through. Inheriting money goes to motive, not evidence. “The defense will try to redirect the attention of the jury to someone else. We have to be able to counter.”

“Of course” is the answer I receive, and we all go back to work.

I talk to Erin, the nurse Lana said talked to Carrie often, and who she thought had a dispute with Oliver. Erin chats with Carrie at work but has never had a problem with Oliver. Of course, few people will admit to a conflict with a man who was murdered. I have the team look further into her with not much to find.

My attention turns to studying the car accident that killed Carrie’s brother.

After which I manage to talk to the now retired detective in charge of that case.

“I’ll never forget what the driver said,” he tells me. “I swear I thought that other kid pushed him.”

He seems to shiver with the words.

I do, too. The idea of a child dying—being here one day and gone tomorrow—is brutal, and that’s at best.

“I see the driver got off?” I ask.

“It was a no-fault accident,” he replies.

“Unless it wasn’t,” I surmise.

“Exactly,” he says tightly. “The kid, the brother, he was a talented athlete even at a young age. He had a bright future.”