The Demise (25 page)

“Probably ninety percent of the time.” Matt sat back in his chair, scratching the whiskers beneath his chin. “Peter started getting these letters eighteen months ago. Did you notice Mr. Lanham acting strange over the last year or so? Preoccupied? Distant?”

“A year ago January. Let me think.” Underwood leaned his head back on the sofa. “Peter always spent a few weeks in Vail right after the first of the year. When he came back last year, he and Patricia were extremely combative, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary.” Underwood closed his eyes. “I don’t know. Nothing I can put a finger on. But you have to remember, my relationship with Peter was strictly business. He’d tell me a few things now and then, but nothing major. And certainly nothing of a personal nature, with the exception of that last night on his yacht.”

The number of letters increased as the months went by, though few newspaper clippings were included as the case grew colder. Matt read them all out loud. The last one was dated just two days before Peter died.

“What’s it say?”

“Oh my gosh.” Matt looked up at Underwood.

“What?”

He flipped the paper so Jim could see it. “
Water tower. Sunday night. Dusk.”

Jim sat up, wincing as he cradled his head in his hands. “He’s our guy.”

“He’s our guy.”

“Or girl?”

“I don’t think so. My gut tells me it’s a guy. Which rules out Patricia or . . .”

“Or?” Jim echoed.

“The way I see it, no one’s name is off the list until we nail the perpetrator. Which means Donella Willet and Jenny Gresham are still—”

“Trust me. Donella isn’t your suspect. And you can take that to the bank.”

“I understand, but we can’t rule her out since she was directly involved with buying Miss Gresham’s silence. And let’s not forget that she could be a disgruntled lover.”

“Oh, please.” Underwood shook his head until he groaned. “I’m telling you, you’re wasting your time.”

Matt’s cell rang. “Berkowitz. I need to take this.”

Jim nodded as Matt answered his phone. “I was just about to call you. I think we may be on to something.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?” his partner asked.

“Lanham was being blackmailed. We found letters—most of them cryptic, but they included news clippings about a possible homicide years ago. My guess is, someone knows Lanham was involved.”

“What’s the amount?”

“That’s just it. The person who wrote these letters never asked for money. I think he was taunting Lanham into confessing.”

“I don’t care what you
think,
Bryson. I want evidence. Hard evidence. Did you get your hands on that new will yet?”

“Yes, but it’s sealed. Lanham gave Underwood strict instructions to take it to his attorney.”

“So? Unseal it.”

“No way. I’ll take it to the attorney—”

“Oh, I forgot. Always the Boy Scout. Look, Bryson, get on the phone. Call the attorney. Tell him you’re bringing it over. Now.”

“I’m not going to call him now! It’s the middle of the night!”

“Just do it.”

“I’m working on it.”

“See that you do. I’ll be there in the morning. I want this case wrapped up. Got it?”

“Got it.”

As usual, Berkowitz hung up without another word. Matt stretched the muscles in his neck as he checked his watch. It was just after four in the morning. Obviously Berkowitz had no qualms about calling in the middle of the night, but he wasn’t about to wake up Lanham’s attorney at this hour.

Jim had dozed off, so Matt quietly gathered the notes and news clippings then jotted a quick note telling Underwood he’d call him as soon as he talked to Lanham’s attorney. With the duffel bag over his shoulder, he yawned as he slipped out the door. With any luck, he’d be able to grab a couple of hours of sleep before making that call.

Chapter 28

Julie peeked at her alarm clock, then pulled her pillow over her head. She’d been in bed for less than four hours, but never really slept. The events of the past few days kept swirling through her mind as if tossed in a high-speed blender. She felt frustrated, exhausted, and still extremely sore. She tried to convince herself to make a valiant effort to go to work, but after a painfully slow trip to the bathroom, she gave up. She needed to eat something then take another pain pill and sleep it off.

She found Gevin sitting at the kitchen counter eating a bowl of cereal.

“Wow, Jules. You look like death warmed over.”

“I
feel
like death warmed over.” She shuffled toward the cabinet and grabbed a coffee mug.

“You’re not going to work, are you? Because, no offense, but that bruise on your forehead is kind of creepy.”

“Gev, enough with the commentary, okay? No, I’m not going to work.” She poured herself some coffee and added a splash of cream.

“Matt called earlier. He asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“What is he, my keeper? Why can’t you all just leave me alone?”

“He’s concerned. So am I. Someone tried to kill you, sis. Don’t you get that?”

“I get it. I get it! I’m just tired of everyone hovering over me. Especially Matt. Honestly, is he not the most stubborn person you’ve ever met?”

“Uh, no. I’m pretty sure
you’re
the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

“Ha ha.”

“No one else even comes close. Look, he told me what happened last night at the marina. There’s some serious stuff going on, Jules, and he’s trying to protect you. If anything, I would think you might cut the guy some slack. It’s obvious he cares for you, even when you frustrate him. Which is something you do easily where he’s concerned.”

Julie rolled her eyes as she sipped her coffee. “Whatever. To be honest, I’m too tired to think about it.”

“He said Underwood refused to stay overnight at the hospital. Was he okay?”

“I think so. At least, he was last night when they dropped me off. He’s lucky he didn’t get his brains knocked out all over that marina.”

“Matt says his attacker ran off when you honked the horn and flipped on the car lights.”

“It was all I could think to do. I’m just sorry I didn’t get a better look at him.”

“Did Underwood?”

“No. It all happened so fast. I’m just thankful Jim tossed the duffel in the water.”

“Did you find out what was in it?”

“No. Matt wouldn’t let Jim talk about it in front of me. See what I mean? He treats me like—”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Gevin tilted his bowl to drink the rest of the milk. “Matt said he was waiting on a call from the attorney’s office. He’s planning to pick up Underwood and head to town as soon as he gets the call. He said he’d call you first chance he gets.”

“Gee. I can hardly wait.” Julie let her arm slide across the counter, then planted her head on her hand and yawned.

Gevin took his dishes to the sink and rinsed them. “I think it’s time you took those pain meds and go back to bed.” He filled a small glass with water. “Down the hatch.”

“You sound just like Mom.”

He pushed the pill bottle and glass toward her. “Just do it.”

She sat up, took the pills, and drained the glass. “There. Satisfied?”

“Totally.” He pinched her shoulder then headed toward the door. “Now get back in bed, okay? I’ll be in the studio if you need anything.” He opened the door then stopped. “And listen to me, Julie. Do not leave. Under any circumstance, okay? I promised Matt I’d make sure you didn’t—”

“Blah blah blah,” she mimicked, making chatting gestures with her hand.

“Julie?”

“All right, all right. I’m going to bed.”

Back in her room, Julie called Georgia at the office, and for the second day in a row, told her she wasn’t coming in for work.

“Oh sweetie, you take as long as you need to recover. We’re all still a bit nervous anyway, what with Mr. Lanham dead, and Donella gone, and you recovering from a near-death accident in the river. What a week it’s been.” Georgia’s voice trailed off before a loud honk came through the line as she blew her nose.

“It’s no big deal, Georgia. Since it’s Friday, I’ll just get an early start on the weekend so I can knock back all this soreness.”

“Oh, you poor dear. How about I bring over some soup for you on my lunch break? Today’s chicken noodle soup day at Denton’s. I can just pop in and get us both some, then we can have lunch together.”

“That’s so sweet of you to offer. But I just took some pain meds, and I can already feel the drowsiness setting in. So if it’s okay, I’ll take a rain check. Maybe another time.”

“Yes, of course. Silly me. You need your rest. Well, don’t you worry about a thing. You just get some sleep, and I’ll pray you feel all better by tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Georgia. You’re the best.”

“You too, sweetie. Sweet dreams.”

Julie took a quick shower, welcoming the hot water that seemed to douse yesterday’s troubles down the drain. Then again, it could be the drugs in her system.

She tried to remember what it was like to lead a normal, uncluttered life. Before Peter’s death. Before Matt Bryson walked into her life. Before all the mystery and intrigue that had rocked Braxton. And before her world got so complicated.

Before all the drama.

Ten minutes later, she put her cell on mute and crawled back in bed.

Hank Ormsby, Peter Lanham’s attorney, had been in Knoxville all week participating in a trial there. When his secretary called to tell him Agent Matt Bryson and Jim Underwood needed to see him right away, he agreed to meet them as soon as he got back to his office near downtown Nashville. He estimated he could be there by five-thirty that afternoon.

Underwood was grateful for the chance to get more rest, but Matt was about to climb the wall. Berkowitz kept calling, berating him for not breaking the seal and reading the will, but Matt held his ground. By mid-afternoon, he quit taking his partner’s calls.

Around two o’clock, he finally heard back from an agent with the California Bureau of Investigation. Matt knew there had to be some reason Peter had remained in contact with Su-Jin, his childhood nanny. The linguistics department had translated all of the emails for him, which raised even more questions in Matt’s mind. The correspondence was vague for the most part, but revealed a deep bond between the two. Not a great surprise, considering the indifference Peter’s mother had shown him and his sister as they grew up. Perhaps Su-Jin had been the mother figure in Peter’s life, which would explain why he stayed in contact with her.

But Matt couldn’t shake the feeling that the casual tone of the emails between them covered something deeper. If Su-Jin was Peter’s confidant, the person he could share anything and everything with, then Matt needed to talk with her. He’d used the FBI’s database to locate the eighty-year-old nanny and found out she lived in an area just outside of San Francisco.

Once the agent gave him the number, he called immediately. She answered on the third ring. Matt identified himself and explained the reason for his call.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone,” she said. Matt was surprised to hear only a trace of accent in her voice. “I wanted to come for the funeral, but my health is not good.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Matt said. “His death has devastated the folks of Braxton.”

“I’m sure it has. Peter was beloved by most everyone who knew him.”

“Mrs. Kym—”

“Please, call me Su-Jin.”

“Oh, all right. Su-Jin, I’m curious that Peter wrote to you in Korean. Did you teach him the language when you were his nanny?”

A quiet laugh spilled through the line. “Oh yes. Peter was fascinated with the way I spoke, and insisted at a very young age that I teach him my language. Even as a child, he was so bright and inquisitive, so he quickly learned how to converse in Korean. It was our secret language, and he loved being able to speak with me knowing his mother and Shannon couldn’t understand what we were saying. He was such a joy . . .”

“I understand that both Peter and Shannon were closer to you than either of their parents.”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Mr. and Mrs. Lanham had little time for their children, which always made me so sad. In my country, family is most important, and we remain close throughout our lives. So I was happy to think of Peter and Shannon as my own children, to make them feel loved and cherished as best I could. We had so many wonderful times together. I truly loved them as my own.”

“Mrs. Kym—sorry, I mean Su-Jin—in our investigation to find out what happened to Peter, we have found evidence that he was being blackmailed.”

“Peter? Who would blackmail Peter?”

“We’re not sure, but we found a bag filled with notes and newspaper clippings about a young man named Billy Wendell, who was apparently killed in a hit-and-run accident back in 1969—” Matt stopped when a faint gasp trickled from the other end of the line. “Su-Jin? What is it?”

“I . . .”

“Su-Jin, if you know something, you need to tell me.”

Silence.

“Please, you may be the only one who knows what this is all about.”

A long pause. Then, “I swore I’d never tell a soul.”

“Who did you swear to?”

“Peter . . . and Shannon.”

“But both of them are now deceased. Surely you can see how important it is for us to know what happened so we can find out who’s behind Peter’s death. Whether it was suicide or someone who actually pushed him off that water tower, we need to know.”

Another long pause. Finally, he heard a long, shaky sigh. “Yes. Yes, I understand.”

“Did Peter have something to do with the death of Billy Wendell?”

Nothing.

“Su-Jin? Please. I beg you. Tell me.”

A moment passed. “I will tell you what happened that night. All these years, the secret has burned in a corner of my heart. I will tell you now and hope to find the peace that has always eluded me.”

“Good. With your permission, I’d like to record our conversation from here on. Are you all right with that?”

“Yes. I suppose there’s no harm at this point.”

“Good. Take as long as you like, but tell me everything.”

“It was Easter Sunday, April 8, 1969. Never an Easter passes that I don’t think of that young boy . . .”