Page 66 of Dead Man's List

Connor sighed. “The only person I really believe right now is the tattooed thug whose real name is not Ace Diamond. He said that Shelley got him hooked.” He cocked his head. “But her killer knew that four grand would be a surefire bait to bribe her that night. He might have assumed that she’d simply want the money or he could have known she was an addict who’d take that money in a heartbeat. Who else knew that Shelley Porter was an addict?”

“There you go,” Joel said. “That’s a fresh thread to pull.”

“We will pull it,” Kit said, then turned to the glass when Laura Letterman knocked. “I think you’re up, Connor.”

“Lucky me.”

“See if you can get Veronica to tell you who she was talking to in her office,” she said. “I don’t think it was the pilot. The numbers in her call log were different.”

“Easy peasy,” Connor said sarcastically. He took the folder with the autopsy photos and headed into the interview room.

Chapter Eight

San Diego PD, San Diego, California

Monday, January 9, 4:15 p.m.

Connor walked into the interview room, a friendly smile on his face. “Miss Fitzgerald, so nice to see you again.”

Veronica sneered at him and said nothing.

“You don’t have any reason to keep my client here,” Laura said boldly.

Connor chuckled. “I’d say we have two hundred thousand, four hundred and fifty reasons to keep her here. Plus the fake passport, of course. The Feds will handle that one, but they’re letting us have our go first. Isn’t that nice? We all just get along.”

Laura didn’t smile. “I’ve advised my client not to say anything.”

“I’m sure you have. I just wanted to clear the air with her. Hopefully get a few things straight.” He set the folder on the table. “So. You drive a Chevy Stingray. Hot car, by the way. I wish I had one. But on a cop’s salary, I can’t afford it.”

Veronica snorted. “Your rich parents would buy you one.”

“Veronica,” Laura said quietly.

Veronica rolled her eyes. “I know his parents from the country club. All they can talk about is their important son who’s an important detective. I am not impressed.”

Connor grinned. “I am. I didn’t know they bragged about me. Now, I must commend you on your frugality. Munro bought himself a quarter-mil Ferrari, but you bought a much less expensive car. Seventy-five thousand retail. Still, how does an admin assistant to a city councilmember afford a car like that?”

“It was a gift,” Veronica said stiffly. “And I can prove that.”

“From Munro?”

Laura sighed. “Don’t answer that, Veronica. I’m serious.”

“Hell of an admin appreciation day gift,” Connor commented. “We tallied your rent, the car, and did a cursory check on your credit cards. You spend a lot more than you make. And you have no debt. You paid your bills and Munro’s with money orders. That was real nice of you, ma’am. Getting money orders for him when you bought yours. Or maybe the money was coming out of the same pot?”

Veronica looked away, her lips pursed.

“Okay. You’ve made ten trips to the Caymans in the last four years under your Viola Feinstein passport. Any reason?”

“Vacation,” she said, lifting her chin.

“You must really love it there. I’m wondering if we’ll find that you’ve also opened accounts in Cayman banks under the Viola alias. Or if you have a third passport we just haven’t found yet.”

“You’re fishing, Detective,” Laura said.

“Of course I am,” Connor said, still pleasant. “I wonder if Steven Neal—he’s the pilot we just picked up, Miss Letterman—will tell us about some of Veronica’s trips.”

Veronica’s eyes flashed anger. “He didn’t fly me there.”

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