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Beckett got up to pace. “But was snatching Elliott more of a motive than Chad’s greed? If you ask me, I say this Pollock guy is the main reason Anna and Mack are dead. Money is a great motivator for double murder.”
“I second that,” Brogan stated. “But without hard evidence, a jury might say different. They might believe Vincent wanting his kid exceeds Chad wanting Anna’s money.”
“We need to put the pieces together,” Lucien stated. “That’s all there is to it. We need somebody to tell us the truth. If that means getting Neville to interview Paul, fine. If it means getting Paul to talk with his attorney present, that’s okay with me, too. I don’t care at this point. We need answers for Trey’s parents. They deserve to know what happened to their boy. We can’t go back to Gerald and Susan and tell them we found Elliott but forgot to ask about Trey. We can’t do it.”
“You’re right,” Beckett noted. “Some cases don’t get the pretty bow. Some get wrapped up by any means possible.”
“Hey,” Kelly began, “You guys aren’t talking about letting Vince off the hook, are you? Because that’s what it sounds like to me.”
Brogan laid a hand on Kelly’s arm. “I get what’s going on. If Paul, or rather Vince, has no fear of getting caught, if all he did was snatch his son after the murders, then Lucien is saying take the risk, confront him about grabbing Elliott to find out what he did with Trey.”
Lucien stuck his hands in his jeans pockets and turned to stare out the window. “There’s just one problem with taking that risk. If Vince hurt Trey that morning trying to get away with Elliott, he won’t want to talk to Neville.”
Over the speaker, Neville cleared his throat. “I have an idea. But I need an American to fly to South Africa or someone nearby who can pull off an American accent.”
Birk’s eyes fell on Beckett.
“Don’t look at me. My dance card’s full. I’m already channeling Julian Carter in the Enchanted Forest. Jeez, what a stupid name.”
“The Enchanted Forest or Julian Carter?” Jade teased.
“Both,” Beckett groused.
Birk roared with laughter. “That’s okay. I’ll do it. I’ve always wanted to play the hard-nosed detective. That’s what you’re suggesting, right, Neville?”
“That’s it. An American detective who won’t take any guff and doesn’t play by the rules.”
“If anyone does that, it should be me,” Lucien said with a grin.
“Who says the detective has to be a guy?” Jade tossed back. “I could play that role with my eyes closed.”
Brent Cody pushed out of the chair and stood next to Lucien. “There’s no need for anyone to play the role when I’m the real deal. I know this case. This case is tailor-made for me.”
“But you’re supposed to head up the surveillance once Pollock arrives in Santa Cruz,” Lucien pointed out.
“I think you guys can handle Pollock. He’s nothing but a talker. He won’t show up to do the deed himself. He’ll send someone to do it for him or bring them to the meeting. You need to figure out who that’ll be, then be ready for anything they throw at you.”
Brogan stared at Brent. “You believe it’s Pollock who masterminded this whole thing.” It wasn’t a question.
“We’re about to find out from Vincent Jarreau. How long does it take to fly to Johannesburg anyway?”
Jade scrolled through her phone. “Twenty-one hours plus. There’s a ten-hour time difference, too.”
“Great,” Brent grunted. “I haven’t flown for that long since I got dropped into a war zone. I’m out of practice. Don’t they have those big jets with sleeping compartments now?”
“Absolutely. Don’t worry about the ticket cost,” Lucien said, slapping Brent on the back. “This trip is courtesy of Mr. Chad Pollock, the bigshot record producer. I’ll act as your travel agent and book the flight myself, first-class all the way. Don’t worry. You’ll have plenty of time to catch up on your sleep.”
“And if not,” Brogan added, shoving her Kindle into his hands. “There’s always reading to pass the time. I’ve just finished a trilogy that shows the ugly side of Hollywood’s glitz and glamour. It’s about an unsolved, forty-year-old double murder during the Manson era. You might find it a fascinating snapshot of deep-seated revenge and how people hang onto a grudge.”
Brent cocked an eye toward the Kindle. “That fits into our current situation. What’s it called?”
“The Evil Secrets Trilogy. It’s bookmarked as my current favorite. Although be forewarned, it kept me up at night until I finished all three books.”
“Sure. I’ll give it a try. With twenty-one hours to kill, murder always grabs me and pulls me in every time.”
21
Nestled among cathedral, sky-high redwoods, the Windhorse Retreat sat against the magnificent Santa Cruz mountain backdrop, giving it a 19th-century Old West vibe. Surrounded by a host of natural beauty, fresh air, flower-filled meadows, and outdoor eating areas, the main building boasted eight rooms plus eight individual cabins spread throughout a ten-acre site. The rustic charm of the lodge outweighed its spooky location.
