One-Night Alibi Page 7

  He glanced at her sweatshirt. “Guess Daddy didn’t get his way that time, huh?”

  “No. He took my car away. I went anyway.”

  “You haven’t seen him since then? That’s, what, ten years?”

  “Oh, I’ve seen him. He pops up periodically—here or at work, or we sometimes attend the same functions.” Her gaze darted to the dying orchids, then back. “But no matter how hard he tries...tried...he can’t engage me. I ignore him. And he goes away.”

  “So the estrangement was one-way.”

  “If you mean I wanted it and he didn’t, yes, that’s exactly right.”

  Only one more question came to mind at the moment. “Why? It was a long time ago, and it sounds like maybe he just didn’t want his daughter to be so far from home.”

  “It wasn’t just that. I had my reasons.”

  “That answer isn’t going to wash with the cops when they question you again.” And something told Hudson they would. Though he hadn’t seen it the first time they’d met, Liz fairly reeked with deception. Maybe he simply hadn’t wanted to see it last Saturday.

  “I’ll tell the cops if they ask. But you’re not the cops.”

  He wasn’t...but he was. They could take his badge and gun away, but inside he was still a cop. He always would be. It drove him nuts that he didn’t have his usual resources at hand. He couldn’t simply call up DMV records or look up someone’s criminal history.

  “Hudson...what about the burglar?”

  “Yeah. Kinda suspicious—a guy with a gun in close proximity to where the body was found.”

  “Was my father killed with...? Was he shot?” She realized she’d never asked how he’d died, and she’d deliberately not watched the news or read a newspaper. “They told me he was found in the lake, and I guess I just assumed he’d drowned.”

  Hudson nodded. “He was shot.”

  “So the creep that broke into your house was connected to my father?”

  “I think he was there to kill me,” Hudson said flatly. “I think if you hadn’t been there, that’s what would have happened.”

  “My father wouldn’t have had you killed,” she said reasonably. “I’m sure he was angry over being arrested, but I can’t see him going that far.”

  “I can.” Hudson still shivered when he remembered Mandalay’s cold eyes. “Something was going on in that parking lot. Something other than a simple business transaction. Whatever it was, maybe he wanted it to stay hidden—at any cost.”

  “Okay, so let’s assume the burglar was there to kill you. He fails. Reports back to my father. They get into an argument. Gun comes out...” She swallowed convulsively.

  “It’s okay to grieve, Liz. Whatever happened that caused the feud between you...I’m guessing you have some fond memories, as well.”

  She nodded. “He used to be the center of my universe.”

  Hudson had to admit, he was consumed with curiosity about what all had happened. But she wasn’t ready to tell him yet. She would be. Someday.

  “Okay, I’ll make a deal with you. Knightly and Sanchez think my alibi lady doesn’t exist. I’ll continue to tell them I can’t find you.”

  “Oh, thank you, Hudson—”

  “Wait, wait, I’m not done. They only gave me a couple of days to produce you as my alibi. I doubt they have enough to arrest me. But if they do...then I’ll have to come clean.” He hated lying to cops—to his own partner especially. But he had to agree with Liz on this one. Once they knew the two prime suspects had been together Saturday night, he and Liz would probably find themselves in jail and unable to conduct any kind of investigation of their own.

  “Okay... And during this grace period?”

  “I’ll find the real killer. There’s simply no other choice.”

  “I’ll help.”

  “We’re dealing with a ruthless person or persons here. I can’t put you in danger.”

  “I’m already in danger. What if I get convicted of murder? Sentenced to death? Anyway, I’ve got something you might need.”

  “Really. What might that be?”

  “Money. Lots of it. Getting information out of people can cost. Speaking of which...how did you find me? Money also buys privacy. Jillian was pretty much the only person at that wedding who knew me. And even if you managed to get hold of her in Patagonia, she would never tell. She knows better.”

  “I called in a favor at Project Justice. And I did some legwork,” he added, unwilling to give Mitch all the credit.

  “Project Justice. So maybe we should get them to help us find the real killer. That’s what those people do, right? Help people who have been unjustly accused?”

  “Usually they help people unjustly convicted and imprisoned. We haven’t even been arrested.”

  “So, they’ll get a jump start on our case. Anyway, I have an ace up my sleeve. I serve on the board of directors of the Logan Charitable Trust.”

  “You’re friends with Daniel Logan? The billionaire?”

  “You were at his house. You don’t know him?”

  “Not well enough to just call him up and ask him for a favor like that.”

  “Leave it to me. I’ll let you know once I’ve set up a meeting. Meanwhile, you better go. The less we’re seen together, the better. It’s only a matter of time before some enterprising reporter puts it together.”

  “Damn.” He shook his head. “I’ve never been the subject of media scrutiny before. I don’t like it. Not at all.”

  “You get used to it.”

  “So I take it you’ve dealt with this kind of thing before?”

  “When I was fourteen, my mother disappeared. Poof.” Liz spread her fingers wide, outlining an imaginary cloud of dust. He couldn’t help noticing that her immaculate manicure from Saturday had deteriorated; she’d been chewing on her nail polish.

  “Given who my father was,” she continued, “the media went crazy over the story. Reporters camped out in the street in front of our house for literally months. I didn’t leave the house, not even to go to school. My father hired a tutor. I became a prisoner in my own home.”

  “That sounds brutal. Did you find out what happened to her?”

  “There was some evidence she had a lover. The police decided she must have run off with him, but I never bought it. She wouldn’t have left me without a word. Dad, yeah, she’d have left him. They hadn’t been happy together for a long time. But not me. We were tight.” Liz paused, reflecting. “I know she’s dead. Realistically, that’s the only possible answer. Beyond that, I don’t know, and I’m not sure I want to know. That way, I can fantasize that it was quick and painless, you know?”

  Hudson didn’t really understand that attitude. If something happened to one of his parents, or his little brother, he’d want to know, no matter how unpleasant it was for him.

  “Reporters still call me about it, wanting to revisit the case, since it was never solved.”

  “Have you tried to find her? Recently, that is? In Montgomery County, we have a cold-case squad. There are new techniques, or maybe just looking at an old case with fresh eyes...”

  “Anytime anyone tried to look into it, my father stonewalled them. He said he didn’t want to open old wounds. No investigation ever got very far.”

  “Was he ever considered a suspect? Your dad?”

  “Briefly. But he was out of the country when it happened. That theory never got much traction.”

  “It’s easy enough to create an ironclad alibi if you hire a hit man....” Then Hudson remembered himself. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t vent my sordid theories in front of you.”

  “Let’s not get distracted. One parent’s homicide at a time, okay?”

  “Sorry.” He pulled a card from his wallet and handed it to her. “That’s got my cell number. Let me know... No, don’t call me directly. When you set up something with Project Justice, have someone there contact me. The less direct contact between us, the better.”

  * * *

  ELIZABETH HAD
TO admit, the Project Justice office was impressive. Not the outside, so much. The historic, three-story brick building in old downtown Houston, not far from her apartment, was distinguished, but nothing dramatic stood out. In fact, only a very small plaque in the wall advertised that the foundation was housed here.

  Inside, however, it was a different story. The brass double doors opened into a soaring lobby with walnut-paneled walls and a gray marble floor, polished to a high sheen. You could have fit a bowling alley in that lobby, but it was empty, except for two rather uncomfortable-looking straight-back chairs against one wall. In the center of the room, toward the back, was an enormous circular desk behind which an extremely formidable woman sat surveying her territory like a hungry vulture.

  Elizabeth approached the woman confidently, her heels clicking loudly against the floor and echoing off the walls. The woman’s nameplate identified her as Celeste Boggs.

  “Good morning, Ms. Boggs,” Elizabeth began. “I’m here for a meeting with—”

  “I know who you are. Sign in. I’ll need to see some ID, make sure you aren’t an impostor.”

  Elizabeth obliged and Celeste handed over a visitor badge.

  After Celeste summoned someone on the phone, a young woman who must have been an intern appeared from behind a frosted-glass partition.

  “Ms. Downey? I’m Jax. I’ll take you to the meeting room.”

  Elizabeth struggled with where to clip the visitor badge on her collarless shirt. She finally settled on her belt.

  She followed the young woman down a series of hallways, all of them decorated with the care any River Oaks maven would use to decorate her house. Designer paint colors adorned the walls, while subtle lighting illuminated various pieces of original art. This place was almost as impressive as Daniel’s house. She’d grown up with all the trappings of wealth, and she was still impressed.

  If anyone could help Elizabeth and Hudson, it was Daniel Logan. Aside from the fact he was a billionaire, he was one of the most influential people in the whole state of Texas. He was a personal friend of the governor, and it was rumored he was on a first-name basis with the president.

  Jax finally paused before a room labeled Conference and tapped softly, waiting until someone opened the door. She then stood aside and allowed Elizabeth to enter.

  Elizabeth’s eyes immediately sought out Hudson. He was there, looking delicious as ever, and her heart jumped and briefly tripled its rate. Each time she saw him, her regret for the most unfortunate circumstances of their first meeting grew sharper.

  “Good morning, Elizabeth,” Daniel’s voice boomed. At first glance, she thought he was seated at the head of the conference table—until she realized his head and shoulders were being transmitted on a giant TV screen. She had heard that Daniel once suffered from an acute case of agoraphobia, making it nearly impossible for him to leave his house. Although he was much improved, he still did the majority of his business—whether it was running his oil company, his charitable trust or Project Justice—from the comfort of his home office.

  “Good morning, Mr. Logan.” She felt a little silly talking to the computer screen, but there was a small camera mounted just above the screen, so she supposed from his viewpoint it was as if she were really looking at him.

  “Please, sit down. I think you’re the last to arrive, so we can get started.”

  She glanced at her watch as she seated herself, worried that it was later than she’d thought. She prided herself on being punctual.

  “You’re not late,” Hudson said. “The rest of us were just early.”

  Discussing her before she had arrived? Or was that paranoid?

  The closest empty chair was beside Hudson, so she took it, though sitting next to him unsettled her nerves.

  Daniel introduced her to the others in the room. Some of them she’d met briefly at the wedding, but fresh introductions helped her put the names and faces into their professional context. Joe Kinkaid, one of the lead investigators at the foundation, was a thirtyish, clean-cut guy with a boyish charm. But his demeanor suggested ex-military. His posture, maybe, or the bulky, complicated dive watch on his left wrist.

  Mitch Delacroix, a slightly scruffy, laid-back man, greeted her with a good-old-boy “pleased to meet ya,” revealing the traces of a Cajun accent. The only other woman in the room, a tall, glamorous brunette dressed to the nines in a turquoise suit, was Raleigh Shinn, the foundation’s chief legal counsel.

  The show of force encouraged Elizabeth; if Daniel was going to reject their request for help, he was pulling out some pretty big guns to do it.

  “I’ll just get right into it, if that’s okay,” Daniel began. He was a man of few words, but what he said was always important. “A lot of people need our services. I wish we could help them all, but though the foundation is growing all the time, we simply don’t have the resources to take on every case.”

  “But—” Hudson started to object. He stopped himself when he saw the quelling look on Daniel’s face. Raleigh, too, gave him a stern look of reproach. He sank lower in his chair.

  “That’s why we have a protocol in place, so that the most urgent and deserving cases get our attention first.”

  Oh, dear. This didn’t sound promising.

  “That said, Hudson, you’ve been a friend to Project Justice on a number of occasions. You were a tremendous help with the Mary-Frances Torres case, and if not for you, our Jillian might have frozen to death in a deep freezer.”

  Elizabeth turned to look at Hudson with a fresh appraisal. She’d heard about the attempt on Jillian’s life because the media had picked up the story. It was the type of situation that begged for headlines: beautiful young investigator working undercover gets locked in a deep freezer at her company picnic by the murdering CFO. She hadn’t realized Hudson had taken any part in her rescue.

  Hudson nodded acknowledgment but refrained from speaking, and who could blame him?

  “I can’t take resources away from cases we’ve already committed to working,” Daniel continued, “and our investigators here are always stretched to the max. But I want to help. Just from the little I’ve learned so far about your situation, it seems highly unlikely either of you committed murder. But it also appears you’ve unwittingly put yourself in an extremely vulnerable situation.”

  To put it mildly.

  “So here’s what I propose. Hudson, you’re a highly trained and decorated homicide detective. But since you’re currently suspended, you don’t have access to the tools you need to properly investigate.”

  “Exactly,” Hudson agreed, unable to stop himself. “I’ve never been so frustrated.”

  “Well, we’ve got the most powerful computers money can buy and the most skilled...data analyst you’ll ever find.”

  At the mention of his specialized abilities, Mitch nodded.

  “We’ve got any kind of surveillance equipment you might need, including spare vehicles that can’t be traced to us through any police department. We have experts on call—voice analysts, handwriting and ballistics experts. We have a top-of-the-line crime lab right on premises for DNA, fingerprint ID—”

  “Wait a minute,” Hudson said. “You need access to the national database for that. Only police departments—”

  Elizabeth kicked him under the table.

  “Ow. What was that for?”

  So much for her attempt at subtlety. “It was to remind you that law enforcement isn’t our friend right now. And if Project Justice has a way to ID fingerprints without involving the police, just accept it and move on.”

  Reluctantly Hudson nodded while everyone else in the room, Daniel included, tried not to laugh.

  “We’ll give you a desk, a phone, interns for grunt work. And for anything you need more help with, I’m assigning Mr. Kinkaid here to assist. Officially, he’ll be overseeing your case, though for the most part you’ll be given autonomy to investigate however you see fit. I figure you’re your own strongest advocate.”

  “Th
at’s incredibly generous of you, Mr. Logan,” Hudson said.

  “Thank you so much, Mr. Logan,” Elizabeth said at the same time. She couldn’t adequately express the relief she felt just knowing the powerful Project Justice was on her side.

  “Please, call me Daniel. We’re not formal around here. Except for Raleigh.” He gave his attorney a teasing smile.

  “I have to appear in court later,” she said.

  “Now, I just have a couple of details I’d like to clear up before I turn my attention to other matters. And Hudson, Elizabeth, if this is embarrassing, I apologize, but I have my reasons for asking. How many people, outside this room, know that the two of you spent most of Saturday night together?”

  “I told the detectives working on the Mandalay murder that I spent the night with a woman named Liz,” Hudson said. “I never gave them a last name since I didn’t know it at the time, and they’re under the impression I made it up. Other than that, I’ve told no one.”

  “Elizabeth, how about you?”

  “I haven’t told anyone. But the valet at Jillian and Conner’s wedding saw us leave together.”

  “Which one?” Daniel asked, keenly interested.

  “Young, male, frizzy brown hair, big black glasses,” Hudson answered without hesitation.

  “That would be Dennis.” Daniel scratched his chin and thought for a moment. “I believe he’s due for a vacation. The Bahamas are nice this time of year.”

  Elizabeth nearly fell out of her chair. Daniel would just send someone on a Bahamian vacation to prevent him from being a witness?

  “The doorman at my building let Hudson in, took his name and called up to me, so he can place us together.”

  “What’s his name?” Daniel asked.

  “Oscar Palacios. He has a memory like an elephant. Remembers every detail of what happens in that building.”

  “I’m guessing he probably needs a vacation, too. A nice, long one.”

  Elizabeth tried not to let her alarm show. “Um, you mean a real vacation, right? Not a nice long sleep with the fishes?”

  Everybody laughed at her. “We skirt the law on occasion,” Joe Kinkaid said. “If someone’s life or liberty is at risk, we do what’s necessary. Within reason, though.”