One-Night Alibi Read online

  His story about a woman with no last name who’d disappeared into the night with no trace did sound fishy. Hudson wouldn’t have bought it if some other suspect had told it to him during an investigation.

  But she was real. He simply had to find her and get her to make a statement to the police. It might be embarrassing for her. But even as little as he knew about her, he believed she would do the right thing. She wouldn’t let him swing in the wind to save herself a little embarrassment. Or a lot of embarrassment if she turned out to be in a relationship. Which, he realized, he really hoped she wasn’t...and not just to make his alibi stronger.

  Liz was a friend of Jillian’s. He didn’t have Jillian’s number, but Claudia would have it. Or someone at Project Justice, where she worked, would know how to get in touch with her. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Claudia, but only reached her voice mail, which meant she was probably in a session. He told her succinctly what he was looking for, confident his problems would soon be solved.

  Thirty minutes later she returned his call. By then, he was sitting on his deck with a can of Mountain Dew in his hand, trying his best to let the view of the lake calm his nerves.

  “I can give you Jillian’s number, but it won’t do you much good,” Claudia said. “She’s on her honeymoon.”

  Crap. He could still try to call her. Maybe she would answer. It wasn’t cool to bother someone on their honeymoon, but getting Liz’s contact information would take only a couple of seconds.

  Claudia already knew what he was thinking. “Even if you called her, it’s doubtful she’d pick up. They went to Patagonia.”

  Double crap. “The only thing I really know about her is that she’s a social worker, and she works at a clinic of some kind. I guess I could call every clinic in the city and ask for her.” But if that was his only recourse—

  “You should talk to Mitch.”

  “Delacroix? The computer hacker at Project Justice?”

  “We don’t call him that. He’s a computer data analyst. Tell him everything you know about Liz. Anything at all you remember. I bet he can find her for you in less than an hour. You’ve helped out Project Justice in the past. Now let them help you.”

  * * *

  IT TOOK LESS than an hour. In fact, it only took about seven minutes. With some prodding, Hudson had remembered that Liz had said free clinic. That narrowed down the possibilities considerably. With a little bit of fancy online footwork, Mitch had come up with three urban clinics in the Houston area with employees named Elizabeth.

  Hudson decided to visit them in person, rather than try to get Liz on the phone. As skittish as she was—and as angry as she’d been with him when she’d fled his house—she might refuse his call or try to make him think she was the wrong Elizabeth. It would be easier to confront her in person and convince her she needed to come forward with her statement.

  With addresses for the three clinics in hand, Hudson set out to find his alibi. It took a few minutes for him to realize that the tightness in his chest had little to do with his thorny predicament, and almost everything to do with the fact he couldn’t wait to see Liz again. He only wished his excuse for tracking her down wasn’t what it was.

  Houston City Clinic was the first stop. It was a depressing storefront office crowded between a run-down bodega on one side and a pawn shop on the other. Hudson had a hard time picturing Liz spending every day at a place like this. It would say something about her character if she wanted to help people that badly.

  He walked through the crowded waiting room, filled with snuffling adults, screaming toddlers and feverish babies and thanked God for the great health coverage he got through the sheriff’s department.

  At least, for a while longer.

  “Excuse me,” he asked the harried receptionist, “I’d like to see Elizabeth, please.”

  “If you mean Dr. Eliza Eldridge, that’s you and everybody else in here.” She looked him up and down. He’d put on some decent-looking khaki pants and a polo shirt, wanting to appear his best when he encountered Liz again. He supposed he looked a little too well-heeled to be patronizing a free clinic, but people could fall into unfortunate circumstances anytime.

  Or maybe the receptionist had simply pegged him as a cop. Some people had a sixth sense when it came to spotting law enforcement.

  “Take a number,” the woman said.

  “Maybe you can help me.”

  “No cutting in line,” she said without looking up. “Take a number.”

  “I just want to ask a question. Is Dr. Eldridge a tall brunette with dark blue eyes?”

  “She’s five foot two with brown eyes and a ’fro.”

  “Then I have the wrong Elizabeth. Thank you for your time.”

  She didn’t look up.

  One down, two to go.

  The second clinic was in a better neighborhood. But it shared the same air of hopelessness as the first. “Elizabeth” was easy to find; she actually worked at the front desk, according to a nameplate. She wasn’t Liz, either.

  “Can I help you?” she asked with a friendly smile.

  “Are you Elizabeth?” he asked, just to be sure. Liz had said she was a social worker, not a receptionist, but he had to be thorough.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “No other Elizabeths work here?”

  “No, just me,” the pretty Latina woman said, still smiling. “You aren’t a bill collector, are you? ’Cause I made my car payment yesterday.”

  He smiled back. “No, nothing like that. Just trying to find an old friend.”

  “Good luck.”

  One to go. His heart lifted as he turned into the parking lot of the third clinic, Los Amigos Family Clinic. Despite the sadly depressed condition of the neighborhood overall, this clinic was clean and bright, and the entire block on which it sat was free from trash and graffiti. The small, freestanding building was painted in bright colors, and the windows were clean. A sign in the window advertised Free Flu Shots.

  Inside was bright and fresh, too. There was still a crowd of people waiting for care, but they didn’t seem quite as desperate as the patients at the other clinics.

  The receptionist sat behind a glass partition. Hudson rang the bell, and the frosted-glass door slid open. A young man in a nicely pressed shirt greeted him with a polite smile. “Help you?”

  “I’d like to see Elizabeth, please.”

  “I’m so sorry—Ms. Downey had to cancel her appointments today. She had a death in her family.”

  “Oh, no, that’s terrible.” Hudson’s heart went out to Liz. He wanted to be there for her, to comfort her, give her a shoulder to cry on. Which was ridiculous, because he barely knew her. “Just to be clear, is this Elizabeth tall with dark hair and dark blue eyes?”

  The young man nodded. “That’s her. Can I give her a message?”

  “I don’t suppose you could give me a phone number, could you?”

  “Ah, no. We can’t give out our employees’ personal—”

  “Yeah, no, I get it. That’s okay.” He had a last name now. Downey. If nothing else, Mitch could find a phone number and home address. For that matter, he could tell Sanchez, and she could track Liz down. But he’d much rather talk to Liz first.

  “Thanks.” As he exited the clinic, he was already redialing Mitch.

  * * *

  AFTERNOON WAS WANING as Hudson approached the front door of the posh apartment building in Houston’s downtown historic district. Who knew there were 28 Elizabeth Downeys living in the Houston area? Mitch was able to eliminate most of them based on identifying factors like race and age, but there were four who had shielded their privacy enough that he couldn’t rule them out. Mitch had offered to hack into Department of Public Safety records and peek at their driver’s-license pictures, but Hudson couldn’t condone Mitch breaking the law on his behalf.

  He’d find her. In fact, he was almost positive he had. This building just looked like someplace Liz would live—a redbrick 1800s bui
lding right off Market Square. Secure—but not behind the walls of some sanitized gated community where no one knew their neighbors.

  Now he just had the security desk to contend with.

  “I’m here to see Elizabeth Downey,” he told the official-looking man who watched all who came and went through the lobby. He didn’t wear a uniform, just a nicely pressed suit, but Hudson had no doubt the man could stop anyone who tried to gain entrance to the elevators or stairs without his okay. At least he’d try.

  “Your name?” the guard asked as he picked up the phone from the antique desk.

  He considered lying, but Elizabeth would probably refuse entrance to someone she didn’t know. “Hudson Vale.” God, he hoped she was home.

  The man spoke softly into the phone. Though Hudson was standing right next to the desk, he couldn’t understand what was said. That was a talent. The guard cast a suspicious eye at Hudson, then concluded the conversation and hung up.

  “Fifth floor. Apartment 524.”

  Relief flooded through Hudson’s whole body. She was here. And she’d agreed to see him. It had taken him half a day, but he’d found her.

  Belatedly, he wished he’d brought flowers. She was undoubtedly still angry with him for the accusations he’d thrown at her Saturday night. That had been stupid of him.

  The elevator couldn’t move fast enough to suit him. When he finally alighted on the fifth floor, he practically sprinted down the hall until he found her apartment number. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he knocked. Decisively. Twice.

  The woman who opened the door was hardly recognizable as the sultry vixen who’d taken his breath away Saturday night, seducing him so shamelessly. She stood before him in sweats and an old Bryn Mawr College T-shirt, her face pale and devoid of makeup, her hair pulled back untidily in an elastic band.

  She was still achingly beautiful.

  “Liz.” Somehow, that was the only word that would come out of his mouth.

  She turned, leaving the door open, and he followed her into her apartment. It was an expensive-looking space, open and airy. The walls were painted in soft pastels; the furnishings looked classy but not formal or pretentious. The only item that looked out of place was a huge bouquet of orchids on the dining-room table, wilted and turning brown. Everything else was clean and well-maintained.

  “I can explain,” she finally said.

  “There’s no need.” He felt a little off-balance. She was the one apologizing? “I don’t blame you for bailing out on me. I said some awful thing, things I didn’t mean. If I’d bothered to use half a brain before I spouted off...”

  She looked at him curiously, as if an apology wasn’t what she expected, either.

  He closed the door. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Her expression changed rapidly from guilt to suspicion. What had he done now?

  “I stopped at your clinic first,” he explained, figuring she didn’t appreciate his intrusion into her privacy. “Someone there told me you’d had a death in your family.”

  “Dear God, you still don’t know.”

  “Uh...guess I don’t. Pretty clueless here. Liz, I don’t mean to intrude on your grief. But I’m in a difficult situation here, and you’re the only one who can help me. Believe me, I wouldn’t have bothered you otherwise. I mean, I did want to see you again. And I’m kind of glad I had an excuse to track you down—”

  “I can’t help you. You have to leave.” She strode toward her front door, obviously expecting him to vacate.

  “What? I haven’t even told you what the problem is.”

  “I already know. You want me to vouch for your whereabouts on Saturday night.”

  “Well, yeah. How do you know about that?” Then he slapped his own forehead. “Duh. It’s probably been in the news.” He hadn’t turned on a TV in days. “Look, I understand if you don’t want to see me again, or if you don’t want the whole world to know you picked up some strange guy at a wedding. But there’s no need for anyone to know. Just talk to a couple of detectives. Tell them you were with me, that I couldn’t possibly have killed Mandalay.”

  She paused at the door, her hand hovering over the knob. Finally she turned and looked at him with something approaching honest regret. “I would help you if I could. I’m not embarrassed. It’s just that using me as an alibi won’t do you much good. Because if there’s one person in the world who had a better reason than you to kill Franklin Mandalay, it’s me.”

  Oh, God. This did not sound good. “Maybe I better sit down.”

  “No, no, you have to leave.” The urgency had returned to her voice. “We can’t be seen together.”

  “We’ve already been seen together. Your security man downstairs knows I came to see you. The valet at the wedding saw us leave together. You think cops won’t figure that out?”

  Her face fell. She returned to the living room and more or less collapsed onto that comfy-looking sofa. Hudson sat in the chair opposite her.

  “Maybe you better tell me everything,” Hudson said. “Why would you want to kill Franklin Mandalay?”

  “Because he’s my father. And we’re estranged. He is manipulative and controlling and a liar. And I’m his sole heir.” With that, her eyes filled with tears. “Jesus, I have no idea why I keep crying. He was not a very nice man.”

  Mandalay was her father? Hudson’s head was spinning like a gyroscope. “I knew there was something off about that night,” he murmured. Then, louder, he said, “Tell me everything. All of it, Liz. If I get even a whiff of deception from you I’m going straight to the police.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LIZ MASSAGED HER temples and looked as if she was collecting herself, rounding up her thoughts. “Our meeting was accidental,” she began. “Well, sort of. I already told you I recognized you from the newspaper. I wanted to meet you. I actually admired you for standing up to my father, and I knew you hadn’t done anything wrong.”

  “Hmm.” Should he believe her now? He had no idea.

  “When I saw you at the wedding, I planned to just talk to you. But then one thing led to another and I completely forgot why I’d wanted to meet you in the first place.”

  “Hmm,” he said again.

  “Hudson, I really liked you. But I knew if you found out who I was you’d be freaked out, and I just didn’t see any happy ending if the truth came out. That’s the real reason I left your house so fast. I saw my opportunity, and I dashed. I didn’t want you to know anything more about me—I was afraid you’d try to find me.”

  “Guess your fears came true.” He pondered the situation for a few seconds. “So, you called a cab?” Her cell phone would have a record of that call, he realized.

  “Using your phone. My cell was out of juice.”

  Okay. That was probably good news. “And you went straight home?”

  “Hudson, of course! Jesus, don’t tell me you think I did it.”

  “The time-of-death window goes until 5:00 a.m. That’s more than an hour after you left my place.” At her stricken expression, he changed tacks. “No, Liz, I know you didn’t do it. But the cops are going to ask you that. They’re going to ask you a lot more. You better be prepared for it.”

  “The cops already talked to me.”

  Oh, hell, of course they had. She’d probably been notified first thing after the body was identified, then asked at least a few preliminary questions. “When?”

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “That I went straight home from the wedding. I didn’t talk to anyone or see anyone. I went home alone, and no one can corroborate my whereabouts.”

  Hudson jumped up and started to pace. “You lied to the police?”

  “You think I should have told them I was with you? How would that look?”

  “You should never lie to the police. They always find out, Liz.”

  “They don’t have to find out. What did you tell them?”

  “I said I was with you, of c
ourse. How the hell was I supposed to know you would be the other main suspect?” He thought some more. “There’s only one thing to do. You have to go to the Montgomery County sheriff’s office and tell them the truth. We’ll go together.”

  “No! Hudson, no, we can’t do that. It’ll look so bad that I lied. For me and for you. Because if they think I did it, and they know we were together, you’ll go down with me.”

  She had a point. Still... “I don’t know how we can keep it secret. The cabdriver who took you home—”

  “I didn’t tell the police anything about a cab.”

  “Yeah, but I did.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them again. “We’ll deal with that if we have to.”

  “They’ll ask people at the wedding. The valet, for instance. He saw us leave together.”

  “I can’t tell them I lied, Hudson. I won’t.”

  Great. If he tried to claim she was his alibi, and she denied his story, he would look even worse. The valet might not recall seeing them together; the place had been a zoo. If he could find which cab company she’d called...

  “Hudson, there must be something else we can do.”

  “We could fly to the Bahamas, but they probably already have our passports flagged.”

  “Really?”

  “Liz, focus. We aren’t going to flee the country. Let’s think this through. You didn’t kill your father. And I didn’t kill him. Ergo—”

  “Someone else did. We just have to find that person!”

  Easier said than done. He prided himself on being a good, thorough detective. But without his badge—without the authority of the Montgomery County sheriff behind him—his efforts would be severely hampered.

  “Any ideas who could have done it?”

  “One of his desperate clients. Or someone he swindled.” She shrugged. “He wasn’t a part of my life anymore. I have no idea what was happening in his world.”

  Hudson had a hard time understanding that. His parents were his rocks, and he loved them both fiercely and saw them on a regular basis. “How long have you been estranged from him?”

  “Since I was eighteen. I got an academic scholarship to Bryn Mawr. He refused to let me go, insisted I go to Rice University and live at home.”