Familiar Lies (23 page)

“Hey,” Winehouse said. “Easy on the name calling.”

Max shook his head. “You and Gabe are two peas in a pod.” He turned back to Liz. “If he makes any noise, gag the son of a bitch.”

Liz glared at Winehouse. He must have seen the determination in her eyes. “I won’t make any noise,” he said.

Max tore out the page from Winehouse’s address book. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Liz nodded. “Be careful.”

Max gave Winehouse another look and found that he wanted to hit the guy again. Instead, he resisted that urge and left the building, headed toward the late Gabe Harris’s apartment.

* * *

Max took Liz’s car to the address listed in Winehouse’s book. With mid-day traffic, the drive took twenty-five minutes. He felt shaky and nervous with anticipation and the extra bit of adrenaline left in his system from his earlier altercation with Winehouse.

Upon arrival he parked outside the apartment complex and went inside the lobby. He took the stairs to the fourth floor and found the apartment easily enough. He retrieved the keys he’d taken from Gabe’s pocket earlier that morning and after trying four of them he found a match. The door opened and he let himself inside, closing it gently behind him.

Inside, the place was a mess. It smelled faintly of spoiled milk and dirty laundry. Half-eaten bowls of cereal filled with congealing milk sat in the sink, explaining half of the odor. Max didn’t search for the source of other stink. Instead, he went to the bedroom and looked around. He didn’t know what he was looking for exactly, but he hoped that he would know it when he found it.

Wearing a pair of the rubber gloves he’d purchased earlier, Max rifled through dresser drawers and looked underneath the mattress and the box springs. Finding nothing in the bedroom, he moved on to the bathroom, sifting through the medicine cabinet and the linen closet before heading into the second bedroom.

This room appeared to have been converted into a small office, complete with a laptop and a desk. He searched through a stack of paperwork that had been haphazardly strewn around the laptop, like everything else in the place. With the place such a disaster, nobody would even be able to tell Max had been there.

He found Gabe’s cell phone charger lying on the desk and thought of Liz’s comment about searching the dead man’s phone. He pocketed the charger before lifting the lid of the laptop to find the computer in sleep mode. It woke up a moment later, the lock screen appearing. On top of the keys, a slip of paper caught Max’s eye. He picked it up to inspect it. It was a receipt for a large safe deposit box, paid in full for one year, the date of the receipt the day after Max had found Amanda’s DVD.

Max inventoried what he knew so far. Gabe had left the house that night with a satchel full of something. Ruby had told Max just before she’d been shot that Gabe had been sitting on some kind of evidence, something to use against Caldwell. The likelihood that the contents of that satchel had found their way into a safe deposit box the next day seemed highly likely.

Max inspected the receipt more closely and found the box number: 21845. Max retrieved Gabe’s keys from his pocket and searched through them until he hit pay dirt.

One of the keys, a small and newer looking gold key, had the number of the safe deposit box etched into its side.

Max couldn’t help but smile as he pocketed the receipt and let himself out of the apartment, locking the door behind him.

It was all there, stuffed into a safe deposit box barely large enough to hold it. A thumb drive, a half-dozen DVDs with names written on them, a manila folder filled with photocopied documents. CDs labeled “phone recordings”. A written and signed statement from Gabe Harris.

There’d be no way Max could get through it all while standing in the bank’s safe deposit room. He needed more time to go through it before he and Liz took it the authorities. He shoved what he could into his pockets before scooping the rest up in his arms and walking out of the bank. He hopped in Liz’s car, placing Gabe’s evidence in the passenger seat

He started the car. He glanced over at the pile in the seat and felt his body relax. They’d found what they needed, everything that Gabe had been using to either expose or blackmail Caldwell. All that was left was to let the professionals take it from there.

Max put the car into reverse and backed out of the space, exiting the parking lot. Barely able to contain his enthusiasm, he plotted a course back to Winehouse Party Rentals HQ.

* * *

Max texted Liz, asking her to let him in when he arrived back at Winehouse’s office. She did, locking the door behind him.

“Any problems? Max asked.

“A few customers showed, but they left when they saw the closed sign. Did you find anything?”

Max followed her behind the counter and stopped. He smiled wide. “I found everything.”

Liz’s eyes widened. “What do you mean by everything, Max?”

“Liz Potter, we did it.” He touched her face and looked in her eyes. “Gabe was sitting on the mother lode. Documents, audio recordings, files, folders…you name it.”

She placed her hand on his. “Anything about Amanda in there?”

“I don’t know. I only had time to skim—”

“Potter,” Winehouse said from behind the counter, out of sight.

Max and Liz looked at each other.

“Amanda Potter,” Winehouse said. “Been a while since I heard that name.”

Before Max could stop her, Liz darted away, disappearing from sight.

Max followed.

As he stepped into the back room he found Liz standing in front of Winehouse, her pistol pointed at his head.

Max stopped short. “Liz—”

“Stay away, Max.”

“Don’t do this. Put the gun down and let’s figure this out.”

Liz ignored him, maintaining her focus on Winehouse. “What do you know about my daughter?”

“Mommy dearest,” Winehouse said, grinning. “You’ve come to collect.”

Max watched Winehouse closely. Something had changed in him, like a switch being flipped. Winehouse had been an everyman with questionable morals when Max last saw him, but now…now he was different. Something in his eyes had changed. They were black and bottomless. It was as if he’d taken off a mask.

“Talk,” Liz said. “Now.”

Winehouse focused back on Max. “Let me guess, you’re Daddy.”

“He’s not Amanda’s father.”

Winehouse smirked. “Not Amanda. Josh.”

Max felt the words stab him in the chest like a knife. He tried to speak, but couldn’t. He could only look impotently at Winehouse. Despite being tied to a chair, Max felt as if Winehouse had suddenly taken control of the room.

Eventually, Max found the ability to speak again. “What do you know about Josh?”

Winehouse smiled like a wolf. “Oh, I know a lot about Josh. I’m willing to bet I know a lot more than you ever did.”

“What happened to my daughter?” Liz said.

Winehouse looked Liz up and down. “I see where she got her good looks.”

Liz lunged forward and slapped Winehouse hard across the face. The sound reverberated through the room. Winehouse recoiled, anger flashing across his face. Then he smiled again as a small trickle of blood appeared on his lip. “You fight better than she did.”

Liz raised the pistol. “What do you know?”

Max took a step forward. “Liz.”

“Shut up, Max.”

Winehouse looked at them both. “What kind of parents were you two? I never had any kids myself—I hate the little bastards—but at least I knew I didn’t want them. But you two…what a couple of failures.”

“Don’t listen to him, Liz.”

Winehouse glanced at Max before turning his attention back to Liz. “He’s right, Liz. You shouldn’t listen to me.”

Liz glared. “Talk.”

“You have to promise not to shoot me.”

“Talk.”

“You’ll never know what happened to Amanda if you pull that trigger.”

Liz’s hand began to shake. A tear streamed from her eye. “Is she dead?”

“I can’t say.”

“Is she dead?” Liz repeated.

Winehouse didn’t answer.

Max felt as if he were watching himself from outside his body. “You did more than just rent the vans, didn’t you?”

“Look at you go,” Winehouse said. “You’d make a good detective, Max. I really mean that.”

“Tell me what happened to Amanda!” Liz yelled.

“Say please,” Winehouse taunted. “Pretty please with sugar on top.”

Liz stood, her chest rising and falling as she stared lasers through Winehouse.

Winehouse went back on Max. He alternated between the two of them, like a tennis match. “What did you find at Gabe’s place? I’m dying to know.”

Max didn’t answer.

“You think I didn’t know he had all that evidence? Of course I did. We worked on it together. Hell, I authored it. Gabe was too fucking stupid to spell his own name, much less author an entire page.”

“You planned on framing Caldwell,” Max said. “Not Gabe. That was the plan all along, wasn’t it?”

“Like I said, Max, you’d make a good detective. A lot better than Smith ever was.”

“Smith worked for you,” Max said. “Caldwell found out that Smith was two-timing him.”

Winehouse laughed. “That’s not what the evidence says. The proof that you hold in your little hands ties Smith to Caldwell. It’ll also tie Caldwell to a lot of other shit.” Winehouse looked at Liz. “Put the gun down or I don’t tell you shit.”

“What if I shoot you anyway?”

“You won’t.”

“I shot Smith.”

A quizzical look passed over Winehouse’s face. “You didn’t.”

Liz only looked at him.

“I guess that makes sense,” Winehouse said. “Explains why you two are alive still.”

“That was you who texted Smith after he tried to kill us,” Max said. “You ordered it. You’re Mr. W.”

“I’ll give Smith credit, he did figure you two out. After he told me about you and mother-of-the-year here, I figured I’d tie up two more loose ends.”

“Like you did with Ruby.”

Winehouse smiled. “But you guys got to him first. Bravo, but it doesn’t matter; he was going be another loose end eventually tied up along with Caldwell.”

“Tell me what happened to Amanda,” Liz said, another tear running down her cheek. “Please.”

“Put the gun down,” Winehouse said. “Maybe I’ll tell you then.”

Liz hesitated, eventually lowering the gun. She slumped into a chair and sat, spent.

Winehouse smiled. “Good girl.”

“You’re a murderer,” Liz said.

“And so are you, Liz Potter. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

“Smith killed Gabe,” Max said, “which means—”

“Which means detective Williamson solves the case,” Winehouse said.

“Gabe wasn’t afraid of Caldwell. He was afraid of you.”

Winehouse flashed his wolfish grin.

“You and Gabe collected all this evidence on Caldwell, but you never planned on Gabe living through it,” Max continued. “Gabe had access to Caldwell’s files, all of his business. He got the evidence and you directed him on how to present it. Then you had Smith kill Gabe to get him out of your way, slanting the evidence to implicate Caldwell in Gabe’s murder. It would look like Caldwell masterminded the hit to keep Gabe quiet. Smith would have gone down as a dirty cop, but now that he’s dead that’s one less loose end you have to tie up.”

“Very clever, Max.”

“But Gabe hid the evidence. He thought he could buy himself time,” Max said. “Maybe he thought you wouldn’t kill him if you didn’t have the evidence. But he thought wrong, didn’t he?”

“I’ll never tell.”

“But we know you’re involved,” Max said. “We’ll go to the cops with that.”

“Your word against mine. You don’t have any proof.” Winehouse eyed the contents of the safe deposit box. “I, on the other hand, have ample proof.”

“But it’s faked.”

“Is it? You might want to read it carefully first. Spoiler alert, your son has a starring role in all this too.”

Max didn’t reply.

“Go ahead,” Winehouse continued. “Read Gabe’s statement. Flip to page three. That’s where it gets good.”

Max hesitated.

“Go ahead, Max. Read it.”

Max felt as if his body had become a lead weight, his feet encased in concrete. He didn’t want to read what had been written about Josh in that statement. Part of him knew it could be a lie; Winehouse already established himself as a liar. But a part of him also knew that it could be true.

Didn’t the best liars interweave truth in their lies?

Despite his reservations, Max took a step toward the manila folder lying on the desk. He opened it and found the document scribed in Gabe’s handwriting.

He began to read.

Max finished the document and simply stood, staring at nothing at all. Then he pulled his pistol and pointed it at Winehouse.

Liz stood. “Max, what are you doing?”

Max didn’t answer.

“What did it say?” she asked.

Max remained silent.

“What did it say, Max?”

Winehouse still had the smirk on his face. “Yeah, Max, what did it say? Your boy was a piece of work wasn’t he?”

Max couldn’t answer. He couldn’t think. His mind scrambled to comprehend what he’d read in Gabe’s confession. Was it true? How could he live with himself if it was?

Max cocked the hammer back on the revolver.

“Whoa,” Winehouse said. “Slow down, buddy.”

Max saw the first hint of fear appear on Winehouse’s face, the first chink in his armor.

Liz picked up Gabe’s confession.

“Don’t read that,” Max said.

Liz didn’t listen. She read through the letter. The color drained out of her face and she looked at Max with a mixture of pity and accusation.

“Josh killed Amanda.” Liz said. She collapsed back into the chair, staring at the wall.

“Bingo!” Winehouse said.

Max could only stare at Liz as Winehouse watched them both. His chest felt tight. He suddenly couldn’t breath. He turned back to Winehouse. The gun felt heavy in his hand. He readjusted the grip and swallowed hard. “You killed my son.”

A look of shock and surprise washed over Winehouse’s face. “What?”