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Finally, Marsha exhaled. “Okay, fine. I kept in touch with Dwayne and Curtis after I left Maryland. They kept tabs on Junior and let him know I was okay, without giving away too much detail.”
“Were you using the nonprofit as a front for laundering money from drug smuggling and bringing illegal aliens into the country?”
“I don’t want to talk about that.”
I can just imagine.
“My point,” she continued, “was that they kept me apprised of events. Every now and then, I come into town on business and stay here incognito. When I heard that vicious slut Lisa Fennimore had sunk her greedy little hooks into my brother, I came here. I told Junior he should insist on an amnio before he marries that gold digger. I’ll bet anything that’s not even his kid.”
“So, you think Lisa hopes to get her hands on the business, too?”
“Lisa just needs to get married to access her trust fund. She doesn’t give a damn about my brother or the business. And my father obviously gave up on Junior ages ago. That rat bastard!”
I nodded. “Did you come to Maryland intending to kill Billy Ray?”
Marsha shook her head, looking glum. “No. It’s just that … after I heard what happened in the parking lot, I sensed an opportunity to get rid of the guy for good, and keep free and clear of the whole mess. But, I swear to God, all I wanted was to get that scum sucking man out of our lives. I killed him to protect Junior.”
“Except, of course, if your father dies, you’re the one who inherits the business now, aren’t you?”
Marsha paled. She raised a hand to her chest and sputtered. “I didn’t kill him for my gain. I swear, I did it for Junior. I’m going to take care of him.”
“Like you took care of Curtis?”
Marsha shook her head. “You don’t understand. Dwayne said Curtis was jeopardizing our whole operation. We had to get rid of him.”
“Who? You and Dwayne?”
“I … I’m not saying anything more.” She crossed her arms.
Far as I was concerned, that was as good as an admission. With any luck, the cops could tease out the details. I turned and scanned the distance. “Here they come.”
Marsha’s mouth was agape. “Who?”
“The cops. They’re here.”
I waved a hand toward the cop cars pulling into the driveway.
“Why? How?” Marcia asked.
“I told them my theory. And now you’ve confirmed it.” I opened my shoulder bag and revealed the small tape recorder I’d borrowed from Barbara Feldman of the Wicomico Weekly Alternative. She’d have a big scoop on her hands now.
“Marsha,” I added. “Just so you know, I didn’t have a birthright. My parents both died when I was nine. And sometimes life just isn’t fair.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
That evening, Mulrooney was in his cups. Based on the taped confession, the cops were willing to drop the charges against Jamila. After the cops had taken Marsha and Junior in, he’d used his not inconsiderable influence to set up a quick hearing and get the charges against Jamila dismissed that afternoon.
Fortunately, the recording was obtained without police knowledge, thus negating Fourth Amendment concerns. Admissible or not, it provided plenty of probable cause to arrest Marsha and Junior. The siblings had lawyered up, but the recording had already done significant damage.
Mulrooney had even managed to wangle two additional days free stay for us at the condo from Bower, Sr. In exchange, Mulrooney provided every assurance that he’d keep the big man’s name out of it when he spoke to the press about the matter. Clearly, Bower, Sr. was pulling out all the stops to distance himself from the actions of his wayward kids.
I called Russell to let him know I’d be taking a couple more days off. Any concern I had that he might feel put upon melted away when he said, “Good for you. Take another week, if you like.”
“Well, that’s not necessary,” I said. “But thanks for offering.”
“Having fun?” Russell’s nasal voice intoned.
“Yeah, I’m having a blast.” I was so not going there. “How’s Oscar?”
