And a detail that had never come up in their negotiations. You had hookers in your house when your kid was home? Voss had no fucking sense.
‘So your wife has left you?’ And taken your child? Good for her. He’d never let his own kids see the underbelly of his business. Voss’s kid was six, for Christ’s sake. ‘When?’
‘Three months ago, but she’ll be back,’ Voss said, sounding like a petulant child. ‘She’ll beg me to take her back when her money runs out.’
It was possible, of course. It was also possible the wife was holding out for a settlement of her own. He needed to know what exactly Mrs Voss knew. ‘If your wife was aware of your indiscretions, why did you continue paying me to keep your secret?’ he asked mildly.
‘She doesn’t know about the parties. She thinks it was just one hooker, one time. And she doesn’t have pictures,’ Voss added bitterly.
It was a fair point. He had more than just pictures of Voss with more than just one slightly underage hooker. He had video and photos that Voss knew nothing about, video and photos that he’d reveal to Voss when the man announced a bid for the state senate seat he’d been not-so-surreptitiously ogling. Keeping those images from the media would be worth far more to Voss – and to me – than the comparatively tame party photos he was paying to keep secret now.
‘Mr Voss, I did not tell anyone about our agreement. Tell me more about the cops that visited your wife tonight. Did they have any distinguishing marks? Scars?’
‘The black guy was bald, drove a Chevy SUV. The white guy drove a Jeep. My guy got the license plate numbers. He has a buddy on the force who ran them. The Jeep belongs to a detective named Kimble. First name Adam. The SUV is registered to the FBI.’
His gut clenched. Kimble? With a big black guy built like a tank? Oh, fuck. Just . . . fuck. Goddammit. He fought to maintain a tone of mild confusion. ‘I think I know the officers you mean.’ Because the reporters had tried to get statements from both men while they processed the Buon Cibo crime scene earlier that afternoon. Detective Adam Kimble and Special Agent Jefferson Triplett. Goddammit. ‘If I’m right,’ which he knew he was, ‘they’re the ones who are investigating the shooting that happened downtown today.’
‘But . . . what could they possibly want with Candace?’ Voss asked, echoing his own thoughts. ‘That shooting today was a college kid who tried to shoot some woman. Give me a minute.’ A keyboard clacked in the background, then momentary silence. ‘Oh shit,’ Voss whispered. ‘That’s insane. Fallon? She was the target?’
His gut clenched even harder. ‘How do you know Meredith Fallon?’
‘She’s my kid’s shrink. Do they think I’m involved? Am I a suspect?’ His voice became shrill. ‘I had nothing to do with that.’
‘Obviously they think you do. Have you had contact with the target?’
Another long silence. ‘No,’ he said.
But he was lying. I can always tell. ‘Why does your kid need a shrink? Because she saw a hooker?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And?’ He inserted a harsh edge into the question. ‘What else did she see?’
‘I don’t know.’ And that sounded like the truth. If the child was in the house at the time of one of Voss’s parties . . . well, there was no telling what the kid had seen.
‘Voss, don’t push my patience. Have you had contact with Meredith Fallon?’ he asked again, much more sharply. ‘I’ll find out. I have resources in CPD.’
‘You have resources everywhere,’ Voss said with disgust.
Yes, I do, he thought with a satisfied smile. ‘So? Fallon?’
‘I might have seen her around. A few times.’
‘You mean you stalked her,’ he said flatly.
‘No. I just showed up in places where I knew she’d be. I just wanted to scare her, make it so that she’d stop badgering my kid.’
And how’d that work out for you? he wanted to ask. ‘I have not disclosed to anyone the terms of our agreement, but the cops sticking their nose in your business could cause a major problem for you.’ And for me, but I won’t let it get that far.
‘I have an alibi. I was speaking in front of a hundred people at a luncheon.’
‘Of course. Then you have nothing to worry about. Except . . .’
‘Except what?’
‘Well, you’re rich. You wouldn’t actually take care of something like that yourself.’
‘Oh my God,’ Voss whispered. ‘This is a nightmare.’
Indeed. ‘What are you going to do about it?’
‘I don’t know.’ He sounded defiant now, but it was a farce. ‘I’ll think of something.’
Too late. I already have. That the cops were sitting outside his house made it slightly more difficult and a good bit riskier, but if Voss was pressed by the police and spilled the beans about his being blackmailed . . .
That cannot happen. Especially with both CPD and the FBI involved in the investigation. Voss had to be silenced.
‘You do that. And when you’ve thought of something, let me know what you’ve got planned. We’ll coordinate,’ he lied and ended the call.
He immediately dialed his uncle Mike, rolling his eyes at the curses that spewed from his uncle’s mouth. ‘Shut it, Mike. I need you.’
Bedclothes rustled in the background. ‘For what?’ Mike snarled. ‘I was asleep.’
‘I need you to take care of Broderick Voss.’
‘Why?’ Mike yawned. ‘He stop paying? That could have waited till morning, kid.’
‘He’s a suspect in this afternoon’s shooting.’
A beat of silence. ‘Huh. How’d that happen?’
He explained Voss’s stalking of Meredith Fallon and Mike snorted.
‘Little shit. He was an idiot before he made a zillion bucks. Still an idiot. Okay, so how do you want it to go down?’
He considered the options. ‘I think by his own hand, partying a little too hard.’
‘Okay, so take some quality H with me. No problemo.’
‘A little problemo. He’s got cops outside his front gate. He’s under surveillance.’
Mike chuckled. ‘Just makes it more fun, kid. What’s my timeline on this?’
‘You have a few hours. Kimble and his Fed partner are about to become very busy with a house fire.’
‘Wait. Kimble’s investigating?’ He laughed. ‘We don’t have to worry then. The guy is fragile as a little snowflake. He’ll fold under the pressure.’
‘I’m not so sure. It’s been a while since his breakdown. I’m not going to underestimate him, that’s for damn sure. Plus, this is bigger than one fragile snowflake. If Kimble folds, there are plenty of cops to take his place. And Feds.’
A pause. ‘Are you afraid of Kimble?’ Mike asked mockingly.
He frowned. ‘Of course not. If he gets too close, we’ll take him out. For now, focus on taking care of Voss.’
‘Okay. I’ll let you know when it’s done.’
‘Thanks.’
Eleven
Cincinnati, Ohio,
Saturday 19 December, 11.15 P.M.
So much for getting to Meredith very, very soon, Adam thought as he parked in front of Pies & Fries, a hole-in-the-wall pizza joint near the college. Because Isenberg had called Adam as he and Trip had been leaving Candace Voss’s sister’s house. The owner of Pies & Fries had contacted Isenberg’s office to identify the shooting victim.
The young man’s name was Andy Gold. He’d been twenty years old and had waited tables at Pies & Fries. Hell, he might have even waited on me. Adam was no stranger to this pizza dive.
Adam got out of his Jeep, his heavy sigh lingering in the air. Trip met him on the sidewalk, his sigh equally heavy.
‘Andy Gold got any priors?’ Trip asked.
‘Not even a parking ticket. Let’s see if we can find out why he’s dead.’
Trip breathed deeply when they were inside. ‘You ever eat here?’
‘Had my eighth birthday here and I’ve been a fan ever since. I recommend the meat lovers.’ Adam pointed to the back corner where the owner was coming through the kitchen door. ‘Shorty Redman. Been the boss since I was in high school. It was his dad’s place before his. They’re good folk. Active in the community. He’s a good boss.’