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“Perfect?”
“I was going to say ‘impossible.’ ”
“Close enough.”
“All right, because you are so perfect, why don’t you haul my suitcase up to the bedroom?”
“You got it. Once I deal with Mr. Crank here.” He touched the baby on his button of a nose, then glanced up at his wife. “You know, your every wish is my command.”
“Uh-huh. That’s just how our relationship works.” Swallowing a smile, she made her way to the upper story and peeled off her clothes, listening with half an ear for any noise coming from the kitchen.
But Tucker had quieted; Santana apparently had everything under control.
Good.
She took a quick, hot shower and was just stepping out when her phone began to ring. Throwing a towel around her body, hair dripping, she picked up the phone and recognized Chilcoate’s number.
“Pescoli,” she answered.
“I know. I called you.”
Pointing out the obvious. Chilcoate could be such an arrogant ass. “You got anything?”
“Some. Still working. But I thought you’d want to know about Ivy Wilde.”
“I do.”
“She’s in Albuquerque.”
“New Mexico?”
“Yeah. Well, at least she was. Last night. According to her phone. Well, I guess what I mean to say is that her phone was last on in Albuquerque. Someone else might have it.”
P
escoli didn’t want to think about that. “You hacked into phone records? Or cell towers?”
He was silent, and she said, “Sorry.” Unwritten rule: she never asked how or where he got his information.
“Can you tell me who she called or texted in the days before the murders?”
“I can e-mail the info to you. The e-mail will come from a private source. You won’t be able to reply. If you need more information, call.”
“Okay.” This was a start. Maybe she could at least locate her niece. If the phone was with Ivy. “Anything else?”
“Bank records. Several different banks. So far, money wise, the Lathams were in good shape. No major outstanding debt. But the husband had a girlfriend. Roberta, aka Robbie Grogan, RN, also married, but separated. Worked for him in the clinic. Previous girlfriends, two I’ve located, also worked for him, both moved away. One in Tulsa, recently married, cell phone suggests she was in Oklahoma this past week, and the other in Nome, Alaska, and she hasn’t been out of the state that I can see.”
“What about Brindel?” Pescoli asked.
“If she was having a fling, she was extremely discreet. I’ve found no evidence of an affair. Not by text or e-mail or phone call. Like her husband, she had no major debts, but her e-mail indicates she was in contact with a law firm, Ivan Haas being the attorney, and she was ready to file for divorce. She did open a separate bank account about fourteen months ago where she siphoned money to the tune of about five grand a month.”
“Her escape stash,” Pescoli thought aloud. “She’d need money if she were going to file for divorce.”
“I’m still working on a few other angles,” he said.
“Send me everything you can. Bank statements, insurance claims, phone information, whatever you’ve got.”
“Will do.” And then he was gone. Pescoli clicked off the phone, towel-dried her hair, and was about to get dressed when Santana entered the bathroom.
