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“But he’s the guy who hired us.”
“No, look at it from a different angle. He’s the guy who waited over twenty years to get at the truth. Why did he wait this long? That thing about hiring other private investigators is a ruse to make himself look good. How do we know he ever got curious before now? And if so, why now?”
Brogan rubbed her temples, where a dull headache had started to pulsate. “I don’t know. I don’t have the answers. I’m tired of thinking about this—all of it. Right now, all I want is eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. And since it’s Saturday, I might stay in bed until noon.”
“Good idea. Go on to bed,” Lucien urged. “Don’t worry. I’ll work down here and keep it quiet.”
With that, she could tell his mind was already somewhere else. She shrugged, looked over at the dogs, and said, “Are you staying down here or up to bed with me?”
The greyhound loped toward the stairs leaving Poppy with no choice but to follow.
While the dogs got comfy in their beds, Brogan changed into pajamas and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She barely finished that chore before deciding to forego washing her face. More tired than ever, she turned back the covers and snuggled into her pillow. She could still hear Lucien downstairs on his laptop. She fell asleep to the faint rhythmic sound of keys tapping away in the night.
12
Brogan woke the following morning to an empty bed. It didn’t take long to realize the dogs hadn’t even stayed to keep her company. She grabbed her robe and headed downstairs.
When she arrived in the kitchen, she saw Lucien at the stove scrambling eggs.
“Finally, you’re up.”
“It’s barely seven o’clock. Please tell me you didn’t stay up all night looking for something on Chad Pollock.”
Lucien’s face split into a grin as he dumped eggs onto a platter. “How’s your headache?”
“It was fine. Something tells me that’s about to change. Why are you so cheerful?”
“Because I discovered that Frank Pollock, Chad’s father created a trust fund for all three of his kids around 1995. Years went by with Chad, Matthew, and Anna collecting a generous monthly allowance. Fast forward to 2000. In August of that year, Frank drops dead from a heart attack. Six months later, in February 2001, Freida takes a spill headfirst into her swimming pool and drowns. The three kids were due to inherit an additional twenty million, split three ways. Without Anna, Chad and Matthew get it down to two. And a year later, Matthew miraculously falls twenty stories from his hotel room, leaving Chad with all that loot.”
“I thought we were focusing on Aaron Deming. When I went to bed last night, you had all but convicted him.”
“Not really. We were doing a lot of speculating. Besides, that was before I found out Chad got a twenty million windfall. Don’t you see? This changes everything.”
Brogan went to the coffeemaker and poured herself a cup of strong coffee. After adding cream and sugar, something she usually didn’t do, she turned to face Lucien. “I’m beginning to think Anna, Mack, and poor little Elliott never stood a chance. And we think our families were screwed up. These guys were sitting ducks.”
“Does that mean you agree with me?”
“It means the Dolworths had so many factors going against them that I’ve lost count—big issues centered around family. For Anna, it’s a greedy record producer brother, a gambler loser brother, and a maybe affair that went terribly wrong. On Mack’s side, he started a feud at fifteen with the powerful Castorini family. He was responsible for his family losing their business and leaving New Jersey. If that wasn’t bad enough, he had a son he never really got to know and lost his brother in an alleyway outside a casino in Reno. Have I left anything out?”
“Look, we don’t actually know that there was ever an affair. Aaron and Anna could’ve been friends, close coworkers. And that’s all. On the other hand, we do have evidence that Chad ended up with all of the inheritance. Greed is a powerful motive.”
“So is thinking a three-year-old is your son. Explain to me why Dr. Deming showed up there that day, riddled with grief. He just happened to make the trip to Santa Cruz. Do coworkers do that, even ones who are close? I’m not buying it. Plus, you want Chad to be guilty of something. Admit it.”
It was true, thought Lucien. He did want Chad to be the killer. But he hated admitting his bias. Which was the reason he changed the subject in bitter retreat. “Sit down and eat. Your eggs are getting cold. Want orange juice with that? Toast?”
She shoved off the counter and took a seat at the table, deciding to eat first before they bumped heads over it again. “I’m famished. I’ll take the juice and toast.”
Lucien got busy on the other side of the kitchen, keeping his distance. But once the toaster popped up, he could no longer hold his tongue when he brought over the OJ and toast. “You know, I love you, but on this, you’re wrong.”
“Really? Are we doing this? Okay. Fine. Should I highlight the size thirteen shoe prints left behind at the crime scene? Chad Pollock wears maybe a size ten, no larger than a ten and a half at most.”
“Pollock could’ve hired someone.”
“Prove it. I love you, Lucien, but you’re reaching. Your desperation is showing. But let’s think this through for civility’s sake. How on earth would you prove Pollock hired someone to kill Anna and Mack? How do you go about doing that?”
Lucien scratched the stubble on his chin as he sat across from her. “I don’t know exactly.”
“Then, for now, let’s focus on locating Aaron Deming. We’ll swing by Brent’s office, go through whatever he has, and pull in Beckett and Birk—since Jack is on vacation with Maeve—to use their extensive talents to find anyone who might help us.”
