AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Lamont frowned. “And who is that?” He’d planned to claim the case himself. No better way to steer the court proceedings the way he wanted them to go.
“It’s that new guy from up north. You know, Cardozo.”
Lamont’s mouth fell open, then shock gave way to anger. “Cardozo? Jean-Pierre Cardozo is the prosecutor you’re working with?” That smarmy, New York City sonofabitch.
“Well, yeah, that’s him. I figured you knew.” But there was a smugness in Cresswell’s tone, a you’re-out-of-the-loop glee that made Lamont’s anger boil even hotter. “Maybe they’re giving you a break. Lettin’ you grieve. You know, since you and Mule were friends. You’d probably have to recuse yourself, anyway.”
“That’s true,” he said, feigning acceptance. “I didn’t think of it that way.”
“Well, don’t fret over it. You’ve got bigger fish to fry anyway, don’t you? I saw you with Lyle Nelson a few nights ago. He’s got deep pockets. Useful for someone considering a run for office.”
Lamont didn’t mind that people were gossiping about that. Publicity was always helpful for a nascent campaign. “Little birds have been squawking.”
Cresswell chuckled. “You know how it goes in this town. Nobody keeps a secret for long.”
Unless everyone who knows it is dead.“True, true. Listen, I’m gonna let you go. I have a meeting I have to get ready for and I know you’re busy investigating Mule’s death.”
“Sure. I hope you weren’t offended about me telling you to ask Cardozo for intel. If he’s got his head up his ass and won’t share, you come on back to me, now. Y’hear?”
“Absolutely,” he promised, then hung up.
Cardozo had to know about Ashley, that she was the dead woman from yesterday morning. He would have been shown the photos, if not the remains themselves. Yet he’s come by two days in a row to check with me.
“Or to check on me,” he muttered aloud, rubbing his temples. This was like a game of whack-a-mole. No sooner had he taken care of one threat than another one popped up.
But nobody could connect Ashley’s death to him. Not once Joelle was dead.
He snapped his fingers as a thought popped into his mind. Silver paper. He had to buy more presents and wrap them with silver paper so that no one—specifically James or the building’s surveillance footage—could connect him to the boxes in yesterday’s stolen car. And if anyone did make the connection, he’d say that he always used silver paper to wrap gifts for his wife. That she’d instructed the hit man she’d hired to wrap the boxes with Ashley’s remains the same way.
To frame me.Yes, that was exactly the tale he’d spin.
Hell, it actually sounded like something that Joelle would do. She wasn’t stupid, for sure. And she had been a woman scorned. Anyone mildly acquainted with her knew that she had a vindictive streak a mile wide. That she’d come up with such a plan wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
He’d get through the work on his agenda, then leave early for his two thirty meeting, because he was going to walk. It wasn’t far, and he didn’t want James to know where he was, in case his driver was questioned by the cops. The two thirty meeting was blocked for two hours but wouldn’t last more than one. That would give him time to get the replacement gifts, more boxes, and more silver paper on his way home—where he’d set Joelle’s “suicide” in motion.
Then he’d walk back to the office, clean up, and change clothes, after which an argumentative phone call between him and Joelle would happen to be overheard, establishing an alibi for the time of her death. Then he’d be ready for James to take him to his seven o’clock dinner meeting at the Monteleone.
He’d go directly home afterward, where he’d find his dearly departed wife’s body—along with her guilt-ridden suicide note claiming responsibility for the death of Ashley Resnick.
He’d have to ride out the sex scandal of having had a mistress and a wife who’d murdered said mistress, but that was better than being charged with murder himself. And to avoid that, he needed to eliminate the one person who could still point a finger at him. The one person who’d seen him with Nadia. Who’d seen his scar. Once Xavier Morrow was gone, he was in the clear, once and for all.
Baton Rouge, Louisiana
FRIDAY, JULY 29, 2:30 P.M.
“Hey,” Xavier murmured. “You okay?”
Gabe turned from staring out the back-seat window of Burke’s Escalade to find the younger man studying him with a worried expression. “I’m okay. It’s just that the last time I was in Baton Rouge, it was to consult with Dr. McLain about Dad’s autopsy.”
Xavier’s expression changed from worried to pained. “Her death is not your fault. You know that, right?”
He smiled tightly. “Keep on saying that. I might eventually believe you.”
In the front seat, Molly was driving, and Burke was giving her directions to the UPS store where Xavier had his mailbox. “Turn left at the next light.”
Bringing Xavier with them had been a last-minute call on Burke’s part. It had involved a lengthy, intense conversation among their group, weighing the pros and cons.
The major “con” was that Xavier would be leaving the safety of Burke’s camp after having successfully hidden there for days.
