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“I don’t recall. Could have been their shift change,” Connor says.
“I understand that your wedding was cancelled after Madden’s death.” Damian starts to speak when Connor abruptly interrupts.
“It was postponed. Paris is grieving her father’s death. We all are.”
“Yes, of course,” Damian says placatingly. “Was there any discord between you and Gregory?”
“What are you implying?” his attorney interjects.
“You know as well as I do that these are typical questions in an investigation. Mr. Royce is not the first nor will he be the last to be asked such questions.” Damian looks directly into the lawyer’s eyes, unwavering.
“Go ahead, Connor,” the lawyer tells him.
“No, of course not. Business is business. We agree and disagree, but nothing that would cause a fight. I’m marrying his daughter. It would kill Paris to have us at each other’s throats,” Connor says, playing the poor grieving fiancée card twice now.
Caleb picks this moment to enter the room. He steps in and shuts the door, then stalks toward the table, flattening his palms firmly upon it and leaning forward. “It seems you just lied to us, Mr. Royce, seeing that we’ve found a number of accounts in your name and have traced the funds back to Madden Holdings. Please tell me you have an explanation for that?”
“It’s just transfers of funds—” Connor starts to explain.
“I don’t think so, Mr. Royce. We’ve looking into past correspondence, and there’s no documentation approving transfers, especially not to your own personal accounts,” Caleb says.
“You need a warrant to access company files,” the pompous attorney insists.
“No, I don’t. The active and current CEO, Christie Madden, allowed it. So has the board of directors. Any and all information gathered is legally obtained.” Caleb has struck a blow. Connor knows he’s in trouble.
“That doesn’t mean I killed Greg,” Connor sputters.
“True, but we found the bottle of pills in your office, along with a record of the call you made to the doctor who prescribed it that verifies he gave you that medication on the basis of your anxiety and depression. For Madden, mixed with his other medications, that meant death. The pills were counted, and only one was missing. The one you put in Madden’s drink. The rest haven’t been touched,” Caleb tells him, and as he does, Connor’s face grows paler and paler. But Caleb’s not done. “I have it on good authority that Madden changed his will to exclude you from ever taking over his company. He also made sure to add a daughter he didn’t know existed up until a few months before his death. Nick Davis, Madden’s lawyer, filled us in on the discussion he had with his client about taking you out of the will. Marriage or not, he didn’t trust you.”
“This is all circumstantial,” his lawyer argues, trying to stare down Caleb and failing. Caleb bows down to no one and firmly meets his gaze.
“There’s more.” Caleb turns to face Connor once again. “The bartender at the bar recognized your photo. You know”—he shrugs—“the same bar where you hired Brian Candor to get rid of Miss Jasmine Belfour.” Connor swallows hard, and his hands start to tremble. “There’s a connection to you and Candor and to you and Madden. Shall I continue?”
“Confession is good for the soul,” Damian says with a smirk.
Connor’s attorney puffs out his chest, getting ready to give us more legal spiel, I assume, when an officer pokes his head in the door to interrupt.
“Sir, here’s the report you asked for,” the police offer says, handing the documents over to Caleb. The cop quickly exits, and Caleb scans the report. He looks through the mirrored glass, straight at me. He knows I’m there. There’s a gleam in his eye, and I know we’ve got him.
“Before you say anything, let me give you one more piece of the puzzle. Constance Jerrit.” Connor peers up, and it’s clear that he knows he’s done. “Originally, her death was ruled natural based on her medical history. We exhumed her body and did a full autopsy. Her death was helped along, wasn’t it, Connor?”
“It was—” Connor begins.
“An accident?” Caleb finishes. “Maybe, but we found fingerprints from the bruising that formed after her death. They match yours.”
“You’re going down for the murder of two people and the attempted murder of an officer and Miss Belfour. You’re under arrest, Connor Royce.” Caleb turns to Damian, “Read him his rights and take him down for booking.”
“Wait. Hold on.” Connor rises to his feet. “We can make a deal. There’s more you don’t know.”
“I don’t think you have any cards left,” Caleb says, crossing his arms over his chest.
“It’s not a one-person plan. And that girl, she’s not safe. Cut me a deal or she dies anyway, and that’s on your conscience,” Connor snaps.
I scramble to my feet, grabbing at the crutches. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Alex opens the door for me and follows me out. First thing I do is pull out my phone and call Jasmine.
“Hi, Zeke, how’s it going, sweetie?”
I breathe a sigh of relief at the sound of her voice. “Hey, babe, all’s good here. What are you up to?”
