Closer Than You Think (75 page)

‘You did?’ Deacon asked, surprised.

Bishop shrugged. ‘I wanted to believe Marcus. He behaved like a hero and his story was the same as Stone’s. So I went to see his mother. I figured I’d wait until she woke up to see her since it was so early, but she wasn’t asleep. Her housekeeper took me up to Mickey’s room where Della was just sitting on his bed, looking lost. When I asked her about Jeremy, she said the same thing that Stone and Marcus did – that Jeremy is a good man. She told me the same story her sons had, but added a detail. She was pregnant with Audrey at the time and walked so much that day that she went into labor the next morning. They took video, Faith. She gave me the cassette. She’s as big as a house in the video. Jeremy is in it too. He even has a black eye from your father hitting him.’

‘It could have been manipulated,’ she said stubbornly.

‘Possibly,’ Bishop allowed. ‘How do you know it was Jeremy you saw in the basement?’

‘He had a mustache and parted his hair . . .’ Faith let the thought trail. ‘You think Jordan was pretending to be Jeremy? Why would he do that?’

‘To create a scapegoat?’ Deacon suggested. ‘You said Jeremy looked at you in a way that made you uncomfortable. How did you know it was him then?’

‘Same way. Oh my God.’ New tears filled her eyes. ‘I could have been wrong. All these years he’s been estranged from the family because of something I said.’

‘You were a child,’ Deacon said insistently. ‘I’m not saying Jeremy’s innocent, but you can’t know what you saw when it comes to those two. How often did you see them?’

‘Not often. Just when we visited Gran.’ She dragged her hands down her face, wiping the tears away. She gave herself a little shake. ‘All right. First things first. Let’s exhume my mother’s body. I need to know.’

‘I’ve got the form ready,’ Bishop said. ‘I just need your signature.’

‘Fine. I’d like to talk to Jeremy.’

‘Why?’ Deacon asked. ‘What do you hope to accomplish?’

‘I want to see his face when I tell him my mother was murdered. And if he’s innocent of all the things I’ve thought all these years, I want to apologize.’

Deacon shook his head. ‘Just because he wasn’t there the day of your mother’s death doesn’t necessarily prove he’s innocent of everything else. He and Jordan could still be working together.’

‘And how can I hope to see guilt or innocence when Jordan has snowed me for so long?’

Deacon swallowed his wince. ‘Yes,’ he said simply. ‘You’re not objective.’

She nodded once. ‘I accept that. But don’t you want to be watching his face from the other side of the glass when I ask him about my mother?’ she challenged.

Deacon let out a breath. ‘Hell, yeah. But you’re not leaving this building.’

‘I’ll ask him to come here,’ Bishop said. ‘He was touched that you went to bat for him yesterday with Isenberg so that he could be with Marcus. I’ll tell him that coming here is for your safety, so he won’t feel like he’s being interrogated.’

Deacon caught Faith’s gaze, held it. ‘We’re going to search Jordan’s properties now. Do not talk to Jeremy until I get back.’

‘All right. I promise.’

Cincinnati, Ohio, Thursday 6 November, 9.30
A.M.

Faith waited until they were gone, then sank into a chair, trembling.
Jordan wants me dead. He killed all those people. He tortured Arianna. Tortured them all. Every victim on the bulletin board. All the victims in the basement. In Florida
.

And Jeremy? Had he killed? Did he want to kill her too? Would she even see it in his face if he did? How could she possibly have been so blind?

She closed her eyes as a wave of grief stole her breath.
Mama.
All these years she’d hated her mother.
All these years
. She hunched in on herself, covering her mouth to muffle a whimper, desperately trying to hold it together.

I’m sorry, Mama. I’m sorry.
She let herself cry silently for all the times she’d missed her mother. For all the nights her father had drunk himself to sleep alone.

And then she saw Jordan, all those years. Laughing with her. Partying with her. Rock concerts and beer.
Why?
Why would he do that? But when she looked back at those years through the filter of truth, she understood.

He hadn’t been laughing with her. He’d been laughing
at
her. And all the partying . . . God. He’d encouraged her to do so many unsafe things. To go with unsafe people. To indulge in a lifestyle that could have easily resulted in her becoming an addict or a drunk. Or dead. Then his problems would have been solved. His dead niece couldn’t tell his secret. Couldn’t expose him.

And had she tried to tell? Who would have believed her? She’d had a nervous breakdown. She’d snuck out to parties and concerts and into bars on fake IDs. Her grandmother would never have believed her. Jordan had covered all his bases, hadn’t he?

Fury suddenly burst within her, burning her up, leaving her cold and focused. And needing revenge.
Justice. And answers.

‘Why?’ she demanded of the empty room. Nervous energy had her surging to her feet, pacing. A clean whiteboard was mounted next to the bulletin board, an irresistible invitation to make a list.

In bold capitals she wrote
WHY???
And beneath it, she listed her questions.
What made Jordan this way?
She’d slept in the townhouse countless times, oblivious to the danger.
Why didn’t he kill me while I slept?
What’s up with the fake applicants? Who’s getting their money? Why didn’t an audit pick it up? Why
these
victims?

She looked at the faces of the victims.
All blonde
, she wrote.
All young. All connected to moments of rage
.

All connected to moments when Jordan had lost what he thought should have been his inheritance.

‘They got your money,’ she said quietly. ‘They got scholarship funds and that money should have been yours.’ She shook her head, even as she noted it on the whiteboard. ‘But it’s more than that.’ Deeper than that. ‘There’s too much rage for it just to be about money.’

Of the four O’Bannion children, Joy was the only blonde. The others were redheads. She wrote this down, then stepped back.

‘You hate Joy,’ she said. ‘You keep killing Joy. She took your money.’ Her gaze swept over the victims’ photographs. ‘And then all of
you
took his money.’

‘I agree.’

Faith wheeled around to see Isenberg in a chair behind her, calmly munching a Danish. ‘When did you get here?’ Faith demanded, her hand pressed to her pounding heart.

‘I’ve been here all along,’ Isenberg said, ‘sitting behind your boxes. Novak and Bishop had everything under control, so I did my email. But when you started pacing, I wanted to see what you’d do. What you wrote makes sense. And I imagine he didn’t kill you in your sleep for the same reason he didn’t shoot you when you were at the cemetery on Sunday afternoon. He didn’t want to give the police any reason to investigate him.’

‘He wanted to lure me away and kill me in private. Like maybe in a car accident like the one I had three years ago.’ Faith turned back to the whiteboard.
What happened three years ago?
she wrote. ‘It’s been nagging at me.’

‘It should. It’s a glaringly missing piece.’

‘I got a divorce that year. And moved from the house I had with Charlie into this tiny apartment in a bad Miami neighborhood that made Dad nervous.’ Her heart sank. ‘And Gran, too. Gran said I needed to leave Miami, that it was too dangerous. That . . .’ She swallowed hard. ‘She said that I should come home.’ And then Faith knew what she needed to do. Reluctantly she dialed Henson and Henson.

‘Did you get the files?’ Mrs Lowell asked.

Faith put her on speaker. ‘I did, thank you. Your indexing of the box contents allowed me to find the family of the missing eleven-year-old very quickly. But this morning I have another question. Can you tell me if my grandmother made any revisions to her will in the last few years?’

‘I can check the computer for the change history . . . Here we are . . . Barbara filed the original will a few months after her husband died and updated it four times over the years. The last time was three years ago, on July 24.’

Faith drew a breath, struggled to keep her voice calm. Her car accident had been three days later. Two days after that, a victim had been taken, tortured and buried in her basement. ‘What was the nature of that change?’

‘She did a complete overhaul and made you her heir.’

Faith had known she’d say that, but still it hurt to hear. ‘Who was the heir before me?’

‘I can’t tell you that.’

Faith nearly snarled. ‘Mrs Lowell, someone has tried repeatedly to kill me since I inherited the house. Someone also tried to kill me on July 27, three days after Gran changed her will.’

‘Oh my goodness,’ Mrs Lowell said on a rush. ‘But . . . I can’t tell you, Faith. I’m sorry.’

‘Was it Jordan?
Please,
Mrs Lowell. Not only has someone tried to kill me since I inherited the house, they have killed
twelve people
in the last month trying to get to me. I can’t go on like this, wondering who is going to be next.
Was it Jordan?
’

An exhale. ‘Faith. I can’t tell you that it was. But I won’t tell you that it wasn’t.’

Faith shuddered out a breath, her suspicion confirmed. ‘All right. Can you tell me who manages the books for the Foundation, and have we been audited? As I’ll be taking on my grandmother’s place on the board, I need to know.’

Mrs Lowell’s answer was wary. ‘The board hired Michelle Vance as its accountant. We haven’t been audited in some time, actually. Not since Mr Henson Junior was here. Why?’

‘I’m familiarizing myself with the financial aspects of the Foundation. How might I reach Mr Henson Junior?’

Dead silence. ‘Y-you can’t.’

‘Is he deceased? I thought I saw a plaque on the wall saying he’d retired.’

‘He did retire, but not really. He’s been hospitalized for fifteen years. He is, um, in a permanent vegetative state.’

Faith closed her eyes. ‘Did he have a car accident, Mrs Lowell?’

‘Yes, he did,’ she said, surprised. ‘How did you know that?’

‘The attempt on my life three years ago was also a car accident. Last week my old car was tampered with and the person who bought it died. Along with her son.’

A long, long pause, followed by a shaky reply. ‘Since Mr Henson Junior was hospitalized, his affairs have been handled by his wife, Michelle Vance.’

Faith’s mouth fell open. ‘The Foundation’s accountant? I . . . I see. Thank you, Mrs Lowell.’ She disconnected the call and met Isenberg’s level gaze. ‘You’re not surprised.’

‘Follow the money. Especially big fat pots of it being administered by little old ladies.’

‘True enough. So how about this . . . Somebody creates fake applicants, the board considers them without seeing their names because they don’t want to be biased. Some will be approved, others will not, but the people writing the fake apps will know how to best influence the board.’

‘Makes sense.’

Faith stood to pace off some of her pent-up energy. ‘The checks for fake applicants are prepared, brought by Jordan to my grandmother to be signed, because he managed all of her mail. Mrs Lowell enters the name, date and amount, and she mails the checks and is none the wiser. Jordan finds out because
he’s
looking for Foundation recipients to murder, but lo and behold, some of them don’t exist.’

‘The very nerve of them,’ Isenberg said dryly.

‘Henson Junior’s wife must have known. As the accountant, she’d have to report the social security numbers of the recipients, and the Foundation hasn’t been audited by the IRS. She must be submitting fraudulent tax statements. Maybe Jordan knew all along, maybe he even made up the scam, but he’s known about this for at least fifteen years, because Junior was hurt in a car accident. Henson the Third’s involvement is unclear, but he’s generally dodgy, so my bet is, he’s in it. Is this enough for a forensic audit of their books?’

‘It is if you’re on the board and you request it.’

‘Oh yeah.’ Startled, Faith grinned at her. ‘I forgot I have power.’

Isenberg smiled. ‘Power and guts. And intelligence. If you ever get tired of working at the bank, you might consider working for the police department.’

The bank.
‘Oh crap.’ Faith rolled her eyes. ‘I totally forgot that I got fired yesterday.’

Isenberg’s smile disappeared. ‘Why?’

‘Detective Kimble’s inquiry to my boss made him believe that I was a suspect.’

Isenberg’s lips thinned. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay. I don’t want to work for a company that is so quick to judge me. I may go back to therapy. For now, I’m going to work on the victim lists. It’s keeping me sane, I think.’

Chapter Thirty-Five

Cincinnati, Ohio, Thursday 6 November, 11.30
A.M.

Deacon stood in the conference room doorway, taking a moment to simply look at Faith, who sat at the table surrounded by stacks of paper, staring at her laptop. She was sexy when she concentrated, he thought. Of course she was sexier when they were having sex, but that was not a topic he should be thinking about standing out in the open like this.

‘You might try not to look so besotted,’ Isenberg said behind him.

He huffed a chuckle. ‘I’ll try. What’s she doing?’

‘She and the clerks are still working the list we got from that lawyer, Henson. Things got a little interesting while you were gone.’ She told him about Faith’s conversation with Mrs Lowell, and Deacon’s pride for her grew.

‘She mapped the whole thing out, huh?’

Isenberg pointed to the whiteboard, covered in questions and lists and boxes with arrows pointing to other boxes. ‘The DA’s drafting the warrants for the Foundation financials.’

‘Do we know where Herbie Three and his mother, the accountant, are?’

‘Oh yes. I know where they are precisely. An hour after Mrs Lowell talked to Faith, she called back. She’d pulled copies of the tax returns and showed them to Henson Senior, who then called both his daughter-in-law and his grandson into his office under the pretense of giving them performance bonuses. He held them there for us. They are now in Central Booking. Now for the big question – do we know where Jordan is? I assume not, or you would have led with that.’

‘We know where he’s not. He’s not in his townhouse or his art studio or the apartment above it. We have Jade in custody, but she’s going to be a hard nut to crack.’

Faith looked up from her computer, eyes wide. ‘She doesn’t want to help Roza?’ she asked, and he realized she’d been listening to his update while continuing her task.

‘She does,’ he said, ‘and that’s the problem. She is terrified that Jordan will find out that she’s talked. She keeps going on about cameras everywhere, and she’s right. We found them in every room of that house. He can watch her anywhere at any time. She had no privacy.’

Faith paled a little. ‘I lived there for two years when I was in high school. I stayed there when I visited Gran. Was he watching me too?’

Deacon’s jaw tightened. ‘Maybe not during the two years because that was long before he abducted Jade and Amethyst. But during the last ten years when you’ve visited? Probably.’

Faith pressed her lips together. ‘That is extremely disturbing, but I won’t think about it now. What did you find in his townhouse?’

‘Nothing indicating where he might go. There was no sign that Roza had been there, but we did find Alda Lane in the bed, high on heroin and still wearing the genie costume from Tuesday. She’s pretty ripe.’

Isenberg shook her head. ‘Lovely. Where is she now?’

‘Also in Central Booking. She admitted that Jordan was supplying her habit and in return she was his alibi. The photo she showed me of him passed out drunk had been taken over a week ago. He’d instructed her to tell people he was asleep if they came asking for him.’ Deacon shook his head. ‘I should have questioned her further on Tuesday. I just figured she was eccentric and a little drunk.’

‘I should have followed the money earlier,’ Isenberg said. ‘We didn’t have anything to hold Jordan on at the time. We do now, so we need to find him. For little Roza and all the other victims on that board. I have a press conference at two and I’m going to prepare. Update me at quarter till two with whatever you know.’

‘Will do. Lynda, wait. Where is Adam? I haven’t seen him all morning.’

Isenberg became abruptly administrative. ‘He’s on leave. That’s all I can say.’

‘What?’ Deacon took a step after her as she walked away. ‘His idea or the department’s?’

‘His. Talk to him if you want any more than that.’

‘I will.’ Frustrated, Deacon sat at the table next to Faith.

‘He should’ve been on leave all week,’ she said softly. ‘He’s been a powder keg, ready to blow. That he realized it and took leave himself is positive.’

‘I know, but . . .’ He shook off his concern. Adam was an adult. He’d have to deal. ‘I have something for you.’ From his pocket he drew both her original iPhone and the non-traceable phone she’d purchased only to have it damaged in the hotel shooting. ‘The lab has fully checked your iPhone. No bugs, no tracking devices. But to be sure, they completely wiped it and replaced the SIM card. You still have the same number, but everything else is gone. Combs never had access to your phone.’

‘Then how did he know where to find me during all the months he stalked me?’

‘You said yourself that you don’t like change. Did you have a routine?’

She nodded. ‘It would have to be simple,’ she grumbled. ‘Thank you for my phone, though. I feel like a real person again.’ She held up the broken phone. ‘Why did you give this back? It’s broken.’

‘Just the screen. You still have some minutes on it. And some people like to keep souvenirs of items they were holding during a near miss. That’s one of the reasons I keep my old coat. I’ve repaired a lot of bullet holes and I keep on going.’

‘I do not like to hear that,’ she said darkly. ‘What about the phone Jordan gave me?’

‘It’s got tracking software installed. He would have known you were going to the house yesterday. He might have followed and shot you somewhere along the way. Or worse.’

‘Which was what you were afraid of,’ she said softly.

He nodded. ‘I had a bad moment or two when Vince told me that. But we’re going to find him and then you’ll be free again.’

‘Until then, I’ll be careful.’ She put the broken phone in her pocket and checked the iPhone. ‘I have a missed call already. From Vega. An hour ago.’

Deacon checked his own phone. ‘She called me too, just five minutes ago. I must have been in the elevator because I didn’t hear it. Call her back.’

Faith dialed, putting Vega on speaker. ‘Detective, it’s Faith. I’m sorry I missed your call.’

‘I’m sorry too. I thought we’d use FaceTime so that you could see his expression when he apologized to you, but he’s gone now.’

‘Who?’

‘Oh, your ex. I don’t like loose ends and I kept thinking about Combs’s girlfriend knowing about the picture you took of Combs leaving that little girl’s house. I brought Charlie Frye into my LT’s office and the three of us had a chat. Did you know that Charlie visited Combs in jail?’

‘No. I had no idea. Why did he do that?’

‘To find out if Combs was lying about you having an affair with him. Charlie had seen the photo of Combs on your phone while you were in the hospital. When Combs accused you in court, Charlie went to see him. He showed Combs the picture that he’d gotten from your phone, said that it proved his guilt. But he said that Combs had a perfectly logical explanation, that he’d been at the house to see the girl’s
mother
, not the girl, and that you’d been stalking him out of jealousy. Because Charlie was cheating on you, he found it plausible that you were cheating on
him
. Still, he said he didn’t believe Combs until he started talking about a birthmark you have in a very intimate place. Charlie was a believer then. Any idea how Combs would know that?’

‘Yeah,’ Deacon said tightly. ‘I do actually. Faith’s uncle had cameras in the room where she stayed when she visited.’ And in the bathroom, but he wasn’t going to make this worse for Faith by telling her that.

‘Agent Novak, didn’t know you were there too. You’ve spoiled my grand finale.’

Deacon frowned. ‘What?’

‘Charlie didn’t look at Faith’s phone on his own. Guess who showed him the photo?’

‘Jordan,’ Faith said. ‘He got to my bedside even before my dad and Lily did. Gran chartered a flight for Jordan and my folks had to drive from Savannah. Jordan had my phone.’

‘Your uncle also continued to call Charlie for updates on you, even after your divorce. He knew Combs had been stalking you for nine months because Charlie told him so.’

‘So he knew that Combs would be blamed for the attempts on my life.’

‘He had a ready-made scapegoat,’ Vega agreed. ‘We think your uncle killed Combs to keep him from getting caught. If Combs ended up having an alibi for any of the murder attempts, we might have broadened the investigation.
If
we’d investigated,’ she added with disgust. ‘I have one other thing for you, Novak. I tried to call you. My sketch artist just uploaded the sketch she did of Combs’s shooter based on the girlfriend’s description. I sent it to your email as soon as I got it.’

Deacon opened his email on his phone and showed the photo to Faith, who swallowed hard. It was Jordan with a big coat and a bald head. ‘It’s her uncle Jordan, but we never knew he was bald. His wig must be high quality. I wonder why he took it off?’

‘I wondered the same. I checked the weather and we’d had a hellacious storm that evening. Tropical storm winds. His wig may have gotten wet or he may have taken it off to keep it from being blown away. So I take it you already knew who we were looking for? A call might have been nice.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Deacon said. ‘We only knew for sure two hours ago ourselves. We believe he’s here in Cincinnati. Our one ace in the hole is that he doesn’t know that we’re looking for him. He’s been setting up his brother to take the fall. Or they might be working together. We’re not sure yet. We’re just hoping he makes a mistake soon.’

‘I hope he does too. Be careful. Call if you need anything.’

Faith disconnected the call. ‘I think I’d like to see Jeremy now. I have too many questions and not enough answers.’

Cincinnati, Ohio, Thursday 6 November, 12.00
P.M.

Finally. He’d been waiting for hours for the pair to leave the hospital and Dr Dani’s ancient car was damn uncomfortable. He had his binoculars ready, focused on the keypad on the Bentley’s driver’s-side door.

1-4-3-6-1.
The driver door opened and Keith got in, leaned over and opened the door for Jeremy. The two of them pulled out of their parking place and headed out of the parking garage, a squad car following at a discreet distance.

That was a problem. He’d have to figure out what to do about the tail. He fell into line, following the cop who was following his target. Worst case, he’d shoot him.

What was one more at this point?

He followed the little convoy to . . . the police station. Not good. He hoped they wouldn’t keep the pair too long. He had plans for the afternoon.

He drove past them when they parked in a spot in front of the station, watching from his rear view as the pair entered the building, followed by their uniformed tail. If they were aware they were being followed by a cop, they gave no indication.

They had to know. Which meant the cop was a guard, not a tail. That made a difference. He drove around the block, parking a fair distance away, filling the meter with coins. Nobody would notice Dr Dani’s car for some time, and when they did, they’d chase their tails for a while, running the stolen license plates he’d switched with the ones that had been on her car. Every little delay gave him time to get his ducks in a row.

He checked his reflection in the mirror. Mustache, check. Gloved right hand in pocket, check. Sagging shoulders and bags under his eyes, check. He got out of Dani’s car and ambled to the Bentley, tapped in the key code and got into the backseat. Any street cams would capture the car’s owner getting into his own car. No worries.

He’d learned long ago how to hide in plain sight. Just act naturally and everyone assumed you were supposed to be doing whatever it was you were doing. It was when a person got nervous that they raised suspicion.

And he never got nervous.

Cincinnati, Ohio, Thursday 6 November, 12.30
P.M.

‘He looks so old,’ Faith said, watching Jeremy through the glass in the observation area.

‘His car accident aged him, I think,’ Deacon said. ‘He lost his career and his lover in one fell swoop.’

‘More car accidents,’ she murmured. ‘Is the big guy his partner?’

‘Yes. He’s Keith O’Bannion. Husband, assistant and bodyguard.’

‘Did Crandall get a list of Jeremy’s ex-wife’s properties?’

‘He did. I’ll forward the list to you. Are you ready to talk to him?’

‘I think so. It’s only been twenty-three years.’

She was nervous, he realized. He squeezed her hand briefly. ‘You’ll be fine.’

Both men at the table jumped to their feet when they entered the interview room. Faith hung back for a moment, her eyes locked with Jeremy’s.

‘Uncle Jeremy? I’m Faith. Maggie’s daughter.’ She held out her hand and Deacon could see it tremble.

Jeremy searched her face, his expression wistful and sad, before taking her right hand in his left, ‘I would know you anywhere, Faith. You look just like your mother.’

Faith’s swallow was audible. ‘I’m so sorry for the loss of your son.’

‘Thank you,’ Jeremy whispered.

‘Thank you for coming here to talk to me. I’m limited as to where I can go without someone getting hurt. Can we sit down?’

Deacon stood where he could see Jeremy’s face but also monitor Keith. He still wasn’t sure about the two men. He wasn’t going to let anything else happen to Faith.

Jeremy sat beside her, then assessed the cut on her head. ‘How did this happen?’

‘I swerved to avoid a person in the road on Monday night. She’d been held in the basement of the old house. Arianna Escobar. She was kidnapped along with Corinne, the woman whose life Marcus saved. We’re very grateful.’

‘The Longstreet woman’s also responsible for Stone being in the hospital,’ Keith grumbled.

Jeremy sighed. ‘He kind of deserved it. Stone doesn’t think. What can I do for you, Faith?’

She drew a breath. ‘I think the man who killed your son also killed my mother.’