Notorious (27 page)

“I don’t run,” she said.

Eleanor rose from her seat and walked over. “Grandmother,” she said, “this is Detective Beck with the Menlo Park Police Department. Detective, my grandmother, Eleanor Sterling Revere.”

“Ma’am,” Beck said with a nod, then told Max, “Maxine Revere, you’re under arrest for obstruction of justice, and a few other things I’ll think of once we have a chat.”

“Absolutely not,” Eleanor said, stepping forward. “You’re not putting my granddaughter in jail shook his head. “Go fd p.”

“Yes, ma’am, I am.”

“I’ll post your bail immediately, Maxine.”

“Not until her arraignment tomorrow morning,” Beck said. “It’s after five. She’ll be spending the night in lockup. Should be fun, with the drunks and whores.”

Eleanor paled.

Maxine stared at the detective. “That’s my grandmother you’re speaking to.”

Eleanor put her hand on Max’s arm. “I’ve heard worse, dear. I’ll call a lawyer. I can’t bear the thought of you being in prison.”

Eleanor was sincerely worried about Max. Her grandmother was never one to show affection. A light kiss on the cheek in greeting, but no hugs, no spontaneous laughter or affection. But in this one moment, Max saw everything that Eleanor was. A matriarch. A grandmother. A survivor. Fear, love, and honor shone in her eyes.

Max kissed her grandmother on the cheek and put her hands on her shoulders. “Thank you.” An odd response, perhaps, but Eleanor understood. She nodded and closed her eyes. Took a deep breath. And when she opened them again, the fighting Eleanor was back. “Call my producer Ben,” Max said. “He’ll contact my lawyer.”

No matter what happened, they would survive.

*   *   *

Max returned to her cell after her phone call with Gia Barone, her attorney. Gia specialized in working with reporters and had gotten Max out of jail in the past.

“The case is nothing,” Gia had said, “but the timing sucks. Arresting you after five. That’s just fucked. I’ve got a lawyer to come in for your arraignment if you need it, but I’ll get the charges dropped before then. I know a guy who plays golf with the DA and he’s telling him the case is fucked.”

She loved Gia, the plain speaker.

“So,” Max said, “what you’re really telling me is that I’m spending the night in jail.”

“In a word, yes. But I’ll make their life hell.”

“I appreciate that.”

Max laid down on the cot. She wasn’t in a group cell, she was alone. She assumed Gia had arranged that. Max could hold her own with the “drunks and whores” as Beck had said, but it would make for a long night. At least now she might be able to sleep. If this cot wasn’t so damn uncomfortable.

She sat up and her back cracked. She was too tall for the bed, but she was too tired to pace. She had no phone, no computer, no book, not even paper and a pen.

She didn’t know what was going on with Andy, or William, or her grandmother. She hadn’t spoken to Nick since the airport. Was Andy already out on bail?

She had a long night to think about her life. Her career, her family, her judgment.

She must have dozed off at some point because she heard her name and she slowly struggled to sit up. She rubbed her eyes and smiled when she saw Nick.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“I’ve been in worse.” She glanced around. “And better.”

“Contempt of court?”

She sat up and stretched. “A couple of times. Once in Mexico. Tha shook his head. “owou>t was definitely worse than this.”

“And you got out.”

“It was a long time ago. Long before I had the show. I was a lot more reckless back then.”

“More reckless?”

She smiled but didn’t say anything. That week had been hell, and she never wanted to repeat it.

“Your producer is a pit bull.”

“I can handle Ben.”

“He knows you’re in jail.”

“I’m sure my attorney called him, since Gia is retained by the show and not me personally.”

“She’s good. You’ll be out in the morning.”

“Gia’s the best. Do not tell me that Ben is on his p class="TX" a

Chapter Twenty-three

Max wrote in a small notepad she’d procured from the night guard. Writing kept her focused and not stressed about being in jail for the night. By the time Nick walked into the holding cell, just after seven that morning, she had drafted an article for the “Maximum Exposure” Web site about Jason Hoffman’s murder and investigation. There were still holes in the case, and they hadn’t caught the killer. And, if Andy or William really killed Lindy thirteen years ago, that meant their theory was wrong that whoever killed Lindy had also buried the unidentified body at ACP and killed Jason Hoffman. It didn’t make sense anyway—other than location, there was no connection between Lindy and Jason. Max still believed that Jason had been killed by whoever buried the girl among the trees. Two completely different cases connected only because of location.

Nick handed Max coffee from Starbucks as soon as the guard unlocked her cell.

“It’s what you ordered on Saturday, but full caffeine this time.”

She was surprised and pleased at his thoughtfulness. “And here I didn’t think to get you anything.”

He grinned and shook his head. “I’m surprised you’re in such good humor.”

“You caught me at the right time then. And I had pen and paper.” She smiled at the guard. “Thank you for that.”

“Thank the detective,ȁ+or f alcoholD; the guard said.

Now Max didn’t know what to say. How did he know she needed an outlet to keep her from going stir-crazy?

Nick leaned over and whispered, “You can thank me later.”

Nick didn’t look like he’d gotten much more sleep than she did. He walked her through the release process, and drove her back to the hotel through a thick morning fog. “Beck was pulled from the Ames case; I’m working it. I sure didn’t make any friends in the process.”

“I appreciate it. Fresh eyes—you’ll solve it.”

“Thanks for your vote of confidence, but knowing who killed her and proving it are completely different things.”

“Boy, do I know that.”

He glanced at her. “What does that mean?”

“My college roommate, Karen—I know who killed her, the FBI knows who killed her, but there was no evidence, nothing but circumstantial evidence at best. And no body. They wouldn’t take it to trial. He’s walking free today, the bastard.” She took a deep breath. “I don’t want that to happen here. If my cousin is guilty, he needs to be charged.”

“I can’t talk to you about this case, not anymore.”

“I understand.” She understood on an intellectual level, but emotionally she had a hundred questions that she knew Nick wouldn’t answer.

Nick pulled into the Stanford Park parking lot and turned off the ignition. “I’m meeting with William first thing this morning, I agreed to go to his office.”

“That’s more than he deserves, if he’s a killer.”

“He’s cooperating. Andrew Talbot isn’t. I have your statement about what Talbot said—are you okay with this?”

“Yes. And I’m sure a half-dozen other people heard our conversation at the airport.”

“Family can be complicated—”

“Just prove it, okay? No doubts. William is a kind person. He’s also weak. He’s never stood up to anyone, not when they pushed back. I can’t reconcile what I know about him with someone who can strangle his girlfriend to death. He’d known Lindy his entire life. She was my friend.” Max unconsciously rubbed the tattoo on her lower stomach, a tangible memory of one of the best weeks of her life.

“If he doesn’t talk, unless we find physical evidence—highly doubtful this long after the murder—there’s not going to be anything to charge him with.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“I’m not going to fabricate evidence.”

“That’s not what I mean!” She turned in her seat and took his hand. Squeezed it, to show she was serious. “Kevin O’Neal’s life was ruined because nearly everyone in this town thought he was a killer. I don’t want that for William. Andy already believes William is guilty.”

“Unless he’s the one who killed Lindy and is trying to confuse us.”

“But it will be hanging over William and his family for the rest of his life. He has two young boys. You know how kids are—they’ll be teased and talked about and grow up hearing all these things about their father. I don’t want th+a fd pat. Either William is guilty, and you need to prove it, or he’s innocent, and you need to prove it!”

“You may be asking for the impossible.”

“I’m not leaving until the truth comes out.”

“And what if it never does?”

“I can’t accept that.”

“You should know that Beck searched your hotel room and took the boxes from the storage unit and your boards.”

He reached back into the rear seat and pulled up her laptop. She stared at it. “He went through my laptop?”

“No—the lab had it. He tried, but couldn’t crack your password.” Nick was trying to make light of the situation, but Max was livid.

“Those were my personal boards. He had no right.”

“They’re in my office, and I will return them tonight. I would have done it this morning, but I got sidetracked—”

“It’s okay,” she snapped. She tried not to be angry with Nick. It wasn’t his fault Beck got the warrant—illegally—and went through her things.

“I understand how you feel.”

“I don’t like anyone going through my notes. My ideas. That’s my life.”

Nick’s phone rang and he said, “Damn, I have to take this, stay—we’re not done with this conversation.”

He got out of the car and paced. Max watched. He was angry. His face was hard, his body all angles and rigid lines. When he was done with the call he stood outside in the fog, not seeming to care that it was cold and damp.

She used the time to control her anger at the violation she felt. She had to separate Nick from his job, from Harry Beck.

He finally got back into the car. “I have to go. I’ll tell you what I can, but don’t expect all the answers.”

“Was that about the case? Bad news?”

“It was personal.” He added, “It’s not about the case.”

Max made no move to get out of the car. She was intrigued by Nick Santini, and she wanted to know what made him both lose his temper and look like he’d lost his best friend.

“My ex-wife,” he finally said. He wasn’t looking at Max, and his eyes were damp. He took a deep breath. “She’s moving again. Says she’s getting married.” He slammed his hand on the steering wheel.

“You still love her?”

“Hell no. I couldn’t care less about her remarriage. But she’s taking my son. Again.”

He took a deep breath. “I moved here three years ago because she wanted to raise Logan closer to her parents. I get that, even though my family is in L.A. We were divorced, she wanted to be with her mom and sister. I didn’t like it, but I made it work. I knew unless I moved close to her, I’d never see my son except a couple of times a year. I couldn’t fly or drive up every other weekend, not with my crazy schedule. Now I have to do it all over again. After I finally get settled here, I’m going to have to try to get into Denver. It’s not that easy to transfer, especially out of state.”

“When is she leaving shook his head. “tro>?”

“Right after school’s out. Six weeks.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“Yeah. Well, I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you.”

Max saw a side of Nick that she hadn’t before—or that she’d only caught glimpses of. That he would change jobs, forsake promotions and seniority, to be with his son showed his true character. She said, “Denver’s nice. Do you ski?”

“Not for years.”

“When you get settled, maybe I can come for a visit and reteach you. I’m a wicked good cross-country skier.” She smiled, though it felt forced.

“I’ll hold you to that.” But he was looking at his phone again. “Max, this is the lab.”

“I’m gone.” She got out of the Bronco and went into the hotel. She glanced back over her shoulder and Nick was writing something frantically in his notebook, his cell phone propped up by his shoulder.

He had news.

Max itched to know what it was, but she understood that her personal connection to the suspect kept her out of the loop.

When Max stepped in her hotel room, the anger returned. Housekeeping had straightened the mess, but dammit, it wasn’t fair, having her privacy violated by that jackass Beck.

She closed her eyes. “Grow up,” she told herself. Life certainly wasn’t fair, and she had to trust that Nick would bring back her notes. She plugged her laptop into its charger, relieved that at least her primary work was protected.

She showered, then changed into clean clothes. The bed looked inviting, but she had work to do. She typed up the notes she’d written last night for the article she wanted to write about Jason Hoffman and his senseless murder. She talked to Ben, then her attorney, then David. She repeated everything three times, and wished she’d just put them all on a conference call. She was fine. She was out of the loop because her cousin was a suspect, she was safe. Ben pushed her about doing a show on the Lindy Ames case, and she refused, but told him about the article she was writing about Jason Hoffman. That marginally satisfied him. David was boarding a plane in Hawaii and offered to cancel the Giants game that night; Max said that wasn’t necessary and to call her tomorrow.

The only thing she didn’t tell anyone was that she wasn’t leaving until she had answers. If it took a year, it would take a year.

And they would all just have to live with it.

By the time she was done with the shower and calls, it was nearly noon. She called William’s cell phone; he didn’t answer. She called his office; his secretary said he was gone for the day. Max didn’t know whether to believe her, but she was inclined to—if Nick had interviewed William, it would throw her cousin off enough where he wouldn’t be able to concentrate. She’d check his house.

She really didn’t want to confront him with Caitlin hovering around being the worried, protective, passive-aggressive wife, but she didn’t have much of a choice, especially if he wasn’t answering his phone.

Max still had her grandmother’s Jag. Driving in it reminded Max how much she loved sporty cars, and missed having her own. But in New York City, she didn’t need a car, and she didn’t want the headache of storing one. When she traveled, she rented. When she was on a long-term assignment, she leased.+a fd p