Page 45 of Dead Man's List

Kit hesitated, then decided to tell the truth. “Yes.”

“Good,” he said on a hiss. “He’s in hell now, I’m sure.”

That’s probably true.

Weaver’s recital alibi covered the time of the murder of Shelley and her mother, but not the time of Munro’s abduction.

“What about Wednesday, all day?” she asked. “Where were you then?”

“Wednesday I pulled a double because the day shift cashier got the flu. I was there from three o’clock on Wednesday afternoon until seven Thursday morning.”

Both of his alibis would be easily confirmed. That took care of the time that Munro had been accosted in his home and he and his car removed in the landscaping trailer. Kit had to admit to being relieved on Weaver’s behalf.

“Do you have any idea of who else we should be looking at, sir?”

“I think you need to follow the money,” Weaver said. “Everyone knew that Brooks Munro was a kept man. But Wilhelmina had him on a short leash. He got an allowance—enough for living expenses and the occasional splurge, but nothing close towhat he’d have needed for his lifestyle. He drove a Ferrari, for God’s sake. Everyone assumed Wil bought it for him.”

Kit studied him. “But you don’t assume that?”

“No.”

“Where do you think the money came from?” Connor pressed.

Weaver was quiet for a long moment. “I heard that he was taking bribes from developers,” he said, still not looking at them. “But I’m sure you’ve heard those rumors, too.”

Kit nodded. “We have. But you know something definitive.” The man’s body language screamed that he had details that he desperately wanted to pass on but for some reason was not doing so. When he remained silent, she asked, “How did you know he received an allowance?”

Weaver swallowed. “During the election I was suspicious of him. I…” He closed his eyes. “I hired a PI to gather whatever dirt he could find.”

Kit wasn’t too surprised. Politics was a nasty business. She was more surprised that Weaver hadn’t used whatever he’d found to fight back when Munro circulated the accusations of child molestation. “What dirt did he find?”

“That he received an allowance of five grand a month. He paid for the Ferrari in cash. Stacks of it. One of his household staff allegedly said that he kept piles of cash in his safe. That’s how he paid them—allegedly—so there was no paper trail.”

“You keep saying ‘allegedly,’ ” Connor noted.

“Because we didn’t have proof,” Weaver snapped. “If I’d had actual proof, I would have used it. And I did try, before you ask. I told the cops all of this, that I was being smeared, but Munro had friends in high places. I was ignored. My attorney advised me to stop publicly arguing and let him handle the case, so I did. Because by then, I was seriously afraid I’d go to prison. My marriage had already fallen apart and I’d been fired. All my savingseither went to my wife in the divorce or to the attorney who did actually manage to keep me out of jail. I couldn’t pay the PI at that point so he walked away.” He exhaled. “I’m trying to move on.”

“Which will be easier with Munro dead,” Kit said.

“Yes.”

It was said with simple certainty.

“How do you think Munro was supplementing his council income?” Connor asked. “Taking bribes from developers had to have been lucrative on some level, but was it enough to buy a Ferrari with cash?”

“I don’t know, and that’s the honest truth. But I do know he paid a lot of his bills with cash or money orders. I’d be surprised if you find much of a credit card trail.”

“Did your PI manage to trace the source of this cash Munro was using?” Kit asked.

“I don’t know. But by the time we got that far, I’d missed a few payments and he said he was deleting everything he’d gathered.” Weaver scowled. “Do I think he really did that? No. But I was too busy defending myself by that point. I told my attorney that I’d hired a PI and he tried to get the information the man had gathered, but he was unsuccessful as well. And you can’t talk to the PI. He’s dead. Was shot while on a stakeout six months ago. I was finally ready to approach him again. I had a little money saved, enough to hopefully buy what he’d gathered, but before we could meet, he was killed. You should have the report in your department files.”

“His name?” Connor asked, poised to write it down.

“Jacob Crocker.”

They’d definitely be looking into him. “Who knew you were ready to meet with him?” Kit asked.

Weaver’s smile was wry, like he’d already thought of thepossibility that Crocker had been killed because of their planned meeting. “My lawyer and Crocker. I trust my lawyer. I don’t know if Crocker told anyone.”

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