“Then why wasn’t Grossman already dead before Veronica called him yesterday morning?”
“Good question. Maybe he was out of town. Veronica will hopefully know.”
Kit crouched on the other side of the body. The victim’s hands were zip-tied in front of him, his legs tied at the ankles. “Grossman had a gun.” She pointed to the end of the barrel, just visible under the dead man’s hip. “I wonder if he got a chance to use it, and why his killer didn’t take it.”
“Maybe his killer didn’t want the hassle of a gun that might be traceable.”
“Makes sense. I wonder if Grossman killed Jacob Crocker, the PI who was working for William Weaver?”
“We can have the ballistics of this gun checked.” Connor frowned. “I want to know how the killer got the jump on Grossman. If the killer really is the guy with the neckbeard, Grossman was a lot bigger. Grossman’s profile from the prison says he was trained in martial arts. He should have been able to take out a guy with a knife or at least do some damage.”
Kit flipped the switch on the wall, turning on the much brighter overhead light. “Maybe that’s why.” She pointed at Grossman’s leg, where there was evidence of a gunshot.
The left thigh of his black cargo pants was darker than the rest of the fabric.
“He had a gun when he grabbed Shelley from the body shop. No surprise that he used it to incapacitate Grossman.” Connor inspected the wound without touching the body. “Bullet’s gone. The fabric around the wound is cut away and the skin’s been hacked open.”
“He’s thorough. We’ve got to give him that. I’ll call this in and get CSU and the ME out here ASAP.”
San Diego PD, San Diego, California
Tuesday, January 10, 8:05 p.m.
“What is itnow, Detectives?” Laura Letterman demanded as she took the chair next to a weary Veronica Fitzgerald.
Kit and Connor took their seats opposite the lawyer and her client. On the other side of the glass were Navarro, Joel Haley, and Sam.
At least Kit had been able to prepare Sam for seeing his ex. He hadn’t been happy about it but had agreed to observe.
Kit wanted his opinion, especially as Veronica had lied about so many things.
“Walter Grossman—or Wayne Walters, as you might have known him—is dead,” Kit said flatly.
Veronica flinched as if she’d been slapped. “No.”
“Veronica,” Laura warned. “We agreed. Say nothing.”
“You knew him, Miss Fitzgerald,” Connor said. “Your lawyer knows that we know that you’ve been traveling with him to the Caymans, because the pilot—her other client—told us so. Walter Grossman accompanied you on nearly every trip. You’ve been screwing him even though you claim to have loved Brooks Munro. We’re tired of your lies, Miss Fitzgerald.”
Laura glanced at her client, who’d closed her eyes and pursed her lips. “She’s not talking to you.”
“His throat was slit, Veronica,” Kit said, her tone terse. “And six of his fingers were cut off. His house had been thoroughly searched. Except for his home office. Half was trashed, the otherhalf had been left alone. Walter kept his blackmail binder in the office, didn’t he?”
Veronica’s head shake was barely noticeable.
“He didn’t?” Kit asked.
“He can’t be dead,” Veronica whispered.
“We know it was him who you were talking to on Monday morning,” Connor said. “When you said that you had to get away. We found a burner phone in his pocket and his call log showed a call from your burner.”
Veronica lifted her chin. “How did you get into his cell phone?” she demanded. “He kept it locked. Even I don’t know the password.”
“We didn’t,” Kit said with a shrug. “We just lied.” She nearly laughed at the outrage on Veronica’s face. “Doesn’t feel good to be lied to, does it?”
“Detective,” Laura said in an irritated tone.
“Counselor,” Kit returned in the same tone. “Your client has lied to us multiple times. If she can possibly,for once, tell the truth the first time we ask, we might be able to catch the person who killed both of her partners. Where was Walter Grossman when you called him from your office yesterday morning?”