Chapter 34
Titus asked Dana the same question a dozen more times. As he more or less expected, she stuck to her story. She didn’t know Kat. She had never seen her. She had no idea why she would be investigating anything involved with Dana’s disappearance.
Titus believed her.
He leaned back and rubbed his chin. Dana stared back at him. The slim flicker of hope remained in her eyes. Behind her, Reynaldo was leaning against the doorjamb. Titus wondered whether he could use Dana to get another payout, but no, he had always lived by the rule of patience. Don’t get greedy. It was time to cut the line. He would bet that Detective Kat Donavan hadn’t told anybody about her investigation yet. She had too little evidence, for one thing. For another, she wouldn’t want to admit how she had stumbled across this particular crime.
By stalking a former boyfriend.
He debated the pros and cons. On the one hand, once he removed Dana Phelps, it would be over. She would be dead and buried. There would be no clues. On the other hand, Kat Donovan had gotten further than anyone else. She had put together Gerard Remington’s disappearance with Dana Phelps’s. She had a personal stake in this now.
She might not give up all that easily.
Eliminating a cop was extremely risky. But so, in this case, was letting her live.
He needed to run a full cost-benefit analysis—kill her or not—but in the meantime, there was another matter that needed attending.
Titus smiled at Dana. “Would you like some tea?”
She nodded with everything she had, which wasn’t much. “Yes, please.”
Titus looked toward Dmitry. “Would you make Ms. Phelps some tea?”
Dmitry got up from the computer and headed into the kitchen.
Titus rose. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he told her.
“I’m telling the truth, Mr. Titus.”
“I know that, Dana. Please don’t worry.”
Titus moved toward where Reynaldo was standing by the door. The two men stepped outside.
“It’s time,” Titus said.
Reynaldo nodded. “Okay.”
Titus looked over his shoulder. “Do you believe her?”
“Yes.”
“So do I,” Titus said, “but we need to be absolutely certain.”
Reynaldo’s eyes narrowed. “So you don’t want me to kill her?”
“Oh. I do,” Titus said, looking toward the barn. “But take your time about it.”
? ? ?
Chaz called Julie Weitz. A woman answered the phone and said, “Hello?”
“Is this Julie Weitz?”
“It is.”
“I’m Detective Faircloth from the New York Police Department.”
Chaz asked her a few questions. Yes, she was talking to a man online, more than one actually, but that wasn’t anyone’s concern but her own. No, she had no plans to go away with him. How on earth was that police business anyway? Chaz thanked her and hung up.
Strike one. Or maybe the more apropos baseball term would be safe.
Then Chaz called Martha Paquet’s house. A woman answered the phone and said, “Hello?”
“Is this Martha Paquet?”
“No,” the woman said. “This is her sister, Sandi.”
? ? ?
Smiley Leslie and the silver Mercedes dropped Kat back at Chaz’s yellow Ferrari. Before she got out, Leslie said, “I’ll call you when I have an address.”
Kat almost thanked him, but that seemed woefully inappropriate. The driver handed her back her gun. She could tell from the weight that he had removed the bullets. Then he handed her back her cell phone.
Kat got out. They drove away.
Her head was still spinning. She didn’t know what to make of what Cozone had said. Actually, even worse, she knew exactly what to make of it. Wasn’t it obvious now? Stagger had gone to visit Monte Leburne immediately after his arrest. He hadn’t told Suggs or Rinsky or anybody else. He made a deal with Leburne, so that Leburne would take the fall for Dad’s murder.
But why?
Or was that getting obvious too?
The real question was, what could she do about it? It wouldn’t pay to confront Stagger anymore. He would just continue to lie. Or worse. No, she would have to prove him a liar. How?
The fingerprints found at the murder scene.
Stagger had covered them up, hadn’t he? But if they belonged to Stagger, they would have shown up in the first fingerprint search Suggs and Rinsky ran. All cops’ prints are on file. So they couldn’t belong to Stagger.
Still, when they did get a hit, Stagger had inserted himself in the investigation, pretending (or probably pretending) that the prints belonged to a random homeless guy.
The fingerprints were the key.
She called Suggs on his cell phone.
“Hey, Kat, how’s it going?”
“Good. Have you had a chance to look at those old fingerprints?”
“Not yet.”
“I hate to be a pest, but they are really important.”
“After all these years? I can’t see how. But either way, I put the request in. All the evidence is boxed up at the warehouse. They tell me it’ll take a few more days.”
“Can you push it?”
“I guess, but they’re working active cases, Kat. This isn’t a priority.”
“It is,” she said. “Believe me, okay? For my father.”
There was silence on the other end of the line. Then Suggs said, “For your father,” and hung up.
Kat looked back toward that damn stretch of beach, and now she remembered what she’d been thinking about before Leslie had shown up, leaning against Chaz’s car.
It’s Kat.
She had been the one to type that in an instant message to Jeff/Ron. First, she had sent him a link to the “Missing You” video. Then he had responded as though he didn’t know who she was. Then she wrote . . .