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“He’s probably under some building that sprang up during the time frame he disappeared,” Finley suggested. It was the way things were done in the older Johnson’s day. If his enemies were responsible, that would likely have been the way of it.
Houser’s eyes narrowed again. “In my opinion, this new evidence suggests that Ian did know Lucy. If that’s the case, he may have been involved on some level with her murder. His brother may have eliminated him to keep the trouble away from the family.”
There were crime families who would go that far. Finley was aware it happened, but this was a fishing expedition—for her and for Houser. The more she could learn, the broader her grasp on the situation. As for the other way around, she had an obligation to protect her client.
“Would the father have allowed one son to kill the other?” Finley countered. “Unless you found something in the family history to suggest as much, I’m not buying it.” At least not yet.
The last time she and Houser had worked together, sort of, they had a common goal—get Carson Dempsey. This time they were on opposite sides of the case. This time would be different.
Mostly.
“Raymond Johnson Senior is basically a mob boss,” Houser said, glancing around to ensure none of the other patrons were payingattention. “He’s a bad man, Finley. So is his son Ray. Don’t be fooled by the stories they concoct to make you believe otherwise.”
She smiled. “You think I could be fooled that easily?”
Houser picked at his food. “No.”
He didn’t sound so sure. She started to repeat the question but decided to move on. “What about friends of Ian’s? I assume he had friends and they were interviewed.”
“Three friends. Troy Clinton, Skyler Wright, and Aaron Cost. Cost died in a car crash a couple years back. Thirteen years ago, all three claimed Johnson was not involved with Lucy Cagle. All three insisted they didn’t know her.”
Of course they did. They were Ian’s friends. “All right, then, since I haven’t read the case file yet and you obviously have, why don’t you tell me more of the details about Lucy’s murder and what you feel has changed—beyond the obvious—with this new evidence.”
He pushed his plate away as if he’d lost his appetite. “Thirteen years ago,” he began, “Lucy’s body was found in her car on the side of Coventry Drive near the zoo at Grassmere. It was as if she’d just pulled over and fallen asleep slumped over the steering wheel. Except she was dead.”
Again, he glanced around before going on. “The medical examiner’s report listed the cause of death as ligature strangulation. The suspected weapon was a garrote, a wire thin enough to slice through the skin. The wire was nowhere to be found in the car, and blood evidence—or the lack thereof—suggested she had been murdered somewhere else and then placed in her car and abandoned on the dark street.”
Finley was familiar with the area where her car had been discovered. At the time, it had been wooded on both sides with no streetlights nearby. No witnesses had ever come forward. Obviously, the killer had gone to great lengths to ensure nothing was left behind. No prints and not a single speck of evidence. The car had been utterly spotless.
“I’m assuming,” Finley offered, “you and the previous detective, Blake, believe the killer was either a pro or smart. Or maybe he watched a lot ofCSIand got lucky that no one came along to catch him.”
“That was mostly the thinking at the time.” Houser glanced at his food once more, but then looked away. “Except I don’t think it was luck. I think it was because the killer or the cleanup guy—maybe both—were pros. Your new client is a pro, Fin. A very bad guy.” His attention shifted to his water glass, but he didn’t bother to pick it up.
Okay, there was something going on. “What’s the deal, Houser? Why all the warnings, as if I don’t recognize a bad guy when I meet one?”
His gaze swung up to hers. “Can I help it if I worry about you?”
Wait. Wait. Wait. She and Houser had been friends for a while. He’d had her back when it counted. But this was more than the Johnson family’s level of evil and Lucy Cagle’s tragic murder. Finley’s senses prickled with anticipation or something on that order. She braced. “What’s going on?”
“I received some intel from a reliable source this morning.” He looked her straight in the eye. “Totally unrelated to the Cagle investigation.”
Even though she suspected that would be the case, a trickle of something icy slid through her veins. “Okay.”
“Carson Dempsey has reached out to a source—a dark contact.” He hesitated. “We don’t know the details, but what we do know is that it was aboutyou.”
“Why is that news?” She refused to show uneasiness of any sort.
Finley was responsible for the man’s son being sent to prison, where he was quickly murdered by those who wanted one kind of revenge or the other against his father. She was the reason Dempsey himself was going to trial for numerous crimes. Clearly, he wanted revenge. Killing her husband wasn’t enough.
“Just listen,” Houser countered. “I need you to watch your back, Finley. Tell your family—tell Jack and Matt—that we have concerns about his intentions.”
She held up her hands. She was not going to cower like a scared animal for Carson Dempsey ever again. “Okay, I’ll tell them. But just so you know, I haven’t spotted anyone following me or watching me, and I haven’t stopped keeping an eye out for trouble. I’m not sure I ever will. What I will not do is live in fear of that bastard for the rest of my life. Not happening.”
Dempsey’s thugs had followed her for months. They had watched her.
Now they were all dead.
“Just don’t let your guard down, Fin,” he urged her.
