Chapter Thirty-Two
Trying to keep his temper in check, Lance parked in front of Brian Leed’s house. The garage door was up. In the driveway, Brian was rubbing a chamois over the shining fender of a sleek black Porsche 911.
Lance and Morgan walked up the sidewalk to stand next to the car.
“Hey, Brian.” Lance scanned the car. “What year is that?”
“She’s a 2007.” Brian inspected his work.
“Low miles?” Lance asked.
“Eighty thousand.” Brian shook his head. “Cars like this are made to be driven. It’s a sin to let them sit in a garage.”
Brian knows all about sin . . .
Anger simmered low in Lance’s chest. He lifted his gaze to the sky for a few seconds to get himself back under control.
“What brings you back here?” Brian buffed a spot on the side mirror.
“A few follow-up questions,” Lance said. “You’ve always had a black sports car, haven’t you?”
“I’ve had a few, sure.” Brian wiped a bead of water from the hood.
“What did you drive back in the day?” Lance asked. “All I can remember is that it was loud.”
“That would have been the Trans Am.” Brian whistled. “That was a sweet car. I couldn’t afford a Porsche back then, not with kids to raise. And you’re right.” He grinned. “That engine didn’t purr. It roared.”
Lance bent over and looked inside the car. “Money was tight?”
“Kids are expensive.” Brian turned away from his car, his grin fading and his eyes narrowing as if he just realized Lance’s tone wasn’t casual. His eyes darted back and forth between Morgan and Lance. Suspicion lit his gaze. “You know what? I have an appointment. Is there a specific reason you’re here?”
Your alibi is circling the drain.
“There is.” Lance moved forward, resentment curling his hand into a fist. All these years, Brian had been lying.
Morgan put a hand on Lance’s arm, as if she could restrain him. “You might not want your neighbors to overhear the questions we’re going to ask you.”
Brian rocked back on his heels, assessing them. “You’re not the police.” His tone turned smug. “I don’t have to talk to you at all.”
“If you’d rather talk to the sheriff, that can be arranged.” Lance took his phone from his pocket. “I’ll call him right now.”
Brian’s throat undulated. Muscles on the sides of his jaw shifted, as if he was clenching his jaw. He glanced up the street, then shifted back to his toes and turned toward the open garage. “All right, but I don’t have much time.”
They followed him into the house. He didn’t offer them coffee or a chair. He spun around. “What’s this about?”
Lance stopped in the middle of the kitchen. “How much did Mary charge you for sex?”
Brian’s face went whiter than the quartz countertop. He backed up a step. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Does the name Mr. Joshua ring a bell?” Morgan asked.
“No.” Brian took another step, stopping when his back hit the wall.
“You were my father’s friend.” The words scratched Lance’s throat on the way out. “And you lied to the police about the night he went missing. What else did you lie about?”
Did Brian kill Mary? What about Crystal? Lance couldn’t even process the thought that Brian had tried to kill Jenny.
Brian glared back, and his chest puffed out. “You need to leave.”
“It must have been hard to squeeze money for a prostitute into the family budget.” Rage crawled around inside Lance’s chest, making itself comfortable, as if it was in for the long haul.
“You paid Mary Fox for sex on a regular basis.” Morgan stepped closer, her shoulder edging in front of Lance’s, clearly concerned he was going to throttle Brian. “The owner of the Roadside Motel identified you as one of Mary’s clients. You used the alias Mr. Joshua, and you were with her at the motel the night Vic went missing. I think we can reasonably hypothesize that was the same night Mary was killed.”
“Get out.” Brian’s face reddened.
Lance pressed closer, edging Morgan aside. He wanted to grab Brian by the neck and shake the information out of him. “What else do you know about the night my father disappeared?”
“Nothing.” Brian’s eyes shuttered.
“What happened that night, Brian?” Morgan’s hands wrapped around Lance’s bicep.
But her slim fingers had no hope of holding him back. Lance leaned in, until he was right in Brian’s face. “Where is my father?”
“I don’t know,” Brian yelled.
Lance shook off Morgan’s hand and grabbed Brian by the front of his polo shirt. “Did you kill Mary?”
“God. No.” Brian tried to lean away, but the wall behind him limited his movement. “And that’s the truth. I didn’t see your father that night. I dropped Mary back at PJ’s afterward.” Brian didn’t try to look way. “That’s the last time I saw her. I didn’t know she was dead until you told me.”
Was that the truth? Brian had already proven himself to be a gifted liar.
Lance eased back, putting some space between them. Brian’s sliminess felt contagious. He was supposed to have been Vic’s buddy, someone his dad confided in about his troubled marriage, his wife’s fragility, his son’s vulnerability. Brian had betrayed one of his best friends.
“Twenty-three years ago, someone murdered Mary Fox.” Lance barely recognized his own voice. “But since her bones were found, two possible witnesses have died, and someone tried to kill my mother. Where were you last night?”
“I had a meeting and then dinner with a client,” Brian said. “I was tied up from five o’clock until ten.”
“Would this client back you up?”
“Yes.” Brian nodded. “It was a business dinner. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t. We were at a restaurant. I have a credit card receipt.”
He took out his wallet and pulled out a receipt. Lance glanced at it. The time stamp was nine thirty-six. The date was correct, and the dinner was expensive enough to have lasted several hours. If Brian’s alibi was legitimate, it would clear him of P. J.’s death and the attempt on Jenny’s life.
“I’d be very, very careful,” Lance said. “Someone is making sure anyone who had information about Mary’s death can’t talk.”
Brian looked over Lance’s shoulder. “Shit.”
Lance spun around. Natalie was standing in the doorway. Had she been there long enough to hear Brian confess to adultery?
“You bastard!” she shouted.
Seems like she had. While Brian’s face was dead white, Natalie’s cheeks had flushed an angry red.
“Nat . . .” Brian’s throat worked as he swallowed hard.
“I always knew you cheated on me, but a hooker?” Natalie took two steps, moving through the doorway into the kitchen. “Who knows what kind of diseases you’re carrying.”
“It was just her,” Brian stammered. “There haven’t been—”
“Oh, shut up. Do you think I’m stupid? You’ve always been a cheater. But you couldn’t be discreet about it?” she yelled. “You’re even lazy about cheating. How many whores have there been, Brian?”
“No more. I swear. Mary wasn’t really a hooker. She was . . .” Brian seemed unable to fill in that blank.
“A fucking hooker!” Natalie screamed. “You paid her for sex. This is simple stuff.”
“You never liked sex.” Brian’s eyes went mean. “Men have needs.”
“It wasn’t sex I didn’t like. It was sex with you.” Natalie gritted her teeth. Her furious gaze darted to Lance and Morgan. Humiliation hovered under her rage and helplessness for a few seconds. Then her attention snapped back to her husband with the force of a mousetrap. “Brian can’t get it up unless there’s some violence involved. He’s into inflicting pain. I’m not into receiving it. Did Mary let you yank her around by the hair? Did she like to be tied up and have you hurt and humiliate her? You realize that none of that dominant shit really compensates for a small penis, right?”
Brian looked like he was going to have a stroke at any second. His mouth opened and closed, gaping as if he couldn’t suck in any oxygen.
“You’re pathetic,” she spat.
Lance eased sideways, distancing himself from Brian and the stream of wrath his wife was pouring on him.
“Natalie.” Morgan’s voice was soft and soothing. “Where were you the night Lance’s father disappeared?”
Lance froze.
Did Natalie kill Mary?
“I was here. Someone had to be home with the children.” Natalie’s focus never left Brian’s face.
No one would be able to give her an alibi.
“Did you kill Mary?” Morgan asked in a gentle voice, her tone suggesting an admission would be totally understandable under the circumstances.
Natalie blinked. Her attention flickered to Morgan. “Why would I kill her? It wasn’t her fault that my husband is disgusting.” A tear rolled down her cheek. She didn’t seem to notice. Her attention returned to Brian, fresh fury flickering in her eyes. “I didn’t even know it was Mary until just now.”
Brian hadn’t just betrayed Vic. He’d betrayed his wife too. Everything about him was a lie.
Who was he sleeping with now?
“Natalie, is there anyone who can verify that you were here that night?” Morgan asked.
“No. The kids were all in bed.” More angry tears spilled from Natalie’s eyes. “But you can believe me when I say that the only person I have ever wanted to kill is Brian.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a huge handgun.
Lance took three steps sideways, stepping in front of Morgan, one arm sweeping out to tuck her behind him, the other drawing his sidearm. But the only reason he’d shoot Natalie was if she turned the gun on him and Morgan. Brian was on his own. Life lesson: If you lie down with dogs, you might not get up again.
“Where did you get that?” Brian screeched.
“I bought it, dumbass,” she shot back. “It’s not hard. You go out late at night. I’m here by myself. You don’t like dogs. I wanted it for protection.”
“Put it down! You’re not going to shoot me.” Brian took a step forward, his face smug.
Lance thought she might.
“Dude, I wouldn’t do that,” Lance said.
Natalie’s gun went off. The rooster cookie jar exploded a few feet to Brian’s right, sending ceramic shards and cookie bits in all directions.
Brian turned toward an open doorway to his left, but Natalie fired another shot, cutting off his path. Trapped, Brian searched the room for a way out. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Oh, please. I’ve been taking lessons for months, not that you would notice. Do you think I’d buy a gun if I didn’t know how to shoot it? If had wanted to hit you, you’d be bleeding.” She lowered the gun, pointing it at the floor. “Get out of my house.”
“It’s not—”
The gun muzzle lifted an inch.
“Brian . . .” Lance warned in a what-are-you-thinking tone.
“You have three seconds.” Natalie tapped the toe of her sensible shoe on the kitchen tile. “One.”
Brian complained, “But this is my—”
“Two,” Natalie said.
Brian slid along the wall. Natalie moved out of his way, keeping several feet of space between them, but she didn’t turn her back on him. She spun in a slow circle as he passed her.
The front door slammed. A few seconds later, a powerful engine started up, and they heard the Porsche roar away.
“He’ll be back.” Natalie stuffed her gun into her purse. “Best purchase I’ve made in years. I was just never the sort of person who could stand up for myself.”
“What changed?” Morgan asked.
“A few months ago, a friend of mine finally talked me into going to a support group. Hearing other women talk about getting out of bad marriages made me think I could do it too. I’ve been secretly planning to leave him for months. Kicking him out feels even better.”
“We should go.” Lance nudged Morgan’s arm. Someone probably called the police. Gunshots were not normal in this neighborhood.
Natalie walked across the kitchen, pieces of ceramic crunching under her shoes. She pulled a dust pan from the pantry and began to sweep up.
“Are you all right?” Morgan asked.
Natalie paused for a few seconds. “I feel better than I have in years. It makes me angry that I wasted so much of my life. I could have been happy. Why did I put up with that asshole all this time?”
The question sounded rhetorical. Lance kept his mouth shut.
Natalie swept up a pile of red-and-yellow crockery pieces. “I always hated that cookie jar. Brian bought it for me.” She nudged the decapitated rooster head with a toe and then ground it under her shoe. “Stupid cock.”
Lance didn’t wait for the police to show. He took Morgan’s elbow and steered her toward the front door. “The last thing I need right now is another run-in with the sheriff’s department.”
“True,” she agreed as they went outside. “You won’t be able to solve the case from a cell.”
“You asked Natalie about her activity the night my dad disappeared. Do you really think she could have done it?” Lance got behind the wheel. He glanced up and down the street but didn’t see any curious neighbors or police.
Morgan slid into the passenger seat. “Now that I think about it, no. I would lean toward a male killer. Strangling a young woman and putting her into the trunk of a car would take physical strength. I doubt I could lift a dead body. Hanging Crystal took some muscle too.”
“We’ll have to tell Sheriff King about Brian.” Lance drove away. “Brian lied in his police statements.”
“He lied to Sharp twenty-three years ago,” Morgan said. “The statute of limitations would have run out on making a false statement many years ago.”
“But admitting he falsified his statement means he has no alibi for Mary’s murder.”
“And he also admitted that he was with her that night,” Morgan said. “He said he dropped her at PJ’s, but who can believe a chronic liar?”
“But if Brian had an alibi for P. J. Hoolihan’s death and the attempt on my mother’s life, then he probably didn’t kill Mary.”