Page 16 of Justice for Francesca

“Ironically, he was a cop, for a brief while, but that’s not the primary reason you know him. Michael legally changed his name to Murphy thirteen years ago. Before that, his name was Michael McCabe.”

Francesca froze mid-doodle.

Cruz walked up behind her. “I just found out while I was walking down here, and you were talking with Evans. Frankie? Could he…?” He expelled an expletive and ran a hand through his crew cut to the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I hate to ask you that, but… he’s here… and he’s a McCabe…”

Francesca went back to her sketching as if nothing had interrupted her train of thought. “If he was here, he’s a suspect. Just like the two who found her. Just like Evans. Just like every person who’s been in this building. It’s a wide pool of suspects right now.”

“Do you need me to talk to Ortiz? Get you off this? You shouldn’t be anywhere near him if he’s tangled up in this.”

She hoped her face remained as steady as her voice sounded, even if it sounded as if it was traveling down a long hallway. “Obviously, if the special agent in charge pulls me, I’m gone. If not, I’ll treat him the same as any other subject. I haven’t seen him in fourteen years, nor have I talked to him or any of the rest of my family. Does she know already?”

“I reported it by email because she was out of the office. She said that given your circumstances, she was allowing you to stay as long as you had no direct contact with him.”

“Fine with me. If the investigation seriously turns in his direction as a suspect, I’ll withdraw immediately.” Puzzled, she looked at Cruz. “Does it seem odd to you that she’d let me stay?”

“A little. Maybe she’s allowing it since I’m here to deal with him?”

She made a show of calmly flipping through the pages like she was reviewing her notes. However, all her eyes saw were hazy shapes of words and symbols. She went back to her drawing. “Does he know I’m here?”

“If he doesn’t already, I’m guessing he will shortly. We need to interview Tripoli further, plus Tilly, Triumph, and Michael. I’ll interview your brother with another agent present. Insurance to keep your contamination minimal.”

“You have nothing to fear, Cruz.” She shored up her armor, feeling the cold creep over her. “If my little brother was attached to this, he’ll pay. There’s no sympathy in me for my family.” With that, she closed her notebook, pocketed it, and as she leftthe room, her heels echoing in the quiet, she threw over her shoulder, “I’ll talk to Evans, then I’m going to interview Zelinski and Moll.”

In the elevator, Francesca’s brain was in chaos. Tilly’s abuse. Francesca’s own capture two years ago. Mila Sequeira. Her father. Michael. Her three older brothers. Tripoli. She tried to compartmentalize. Shove things back into their appropriate drawers in her brain to be locked away and never thought about again until she was ready to open the drawers and deal with the problems, one at a time.

Michael’s drawer was one she wanted to open only as a last resort. The rest of her family was the very last drawer she would ever open, and if she could, she’d never open it.

The older triplet brothers. Her father. Each of them a cop. Each one of them on the graft. The Dirty McCabes.

7

AN INVITATION

Tripoli

Jacket off, vest unbuttoned, collar opened, tie hanging loose around his neck, and sleeves rolled up, Tripoli tried to concentrate on finalizing the upcoming payroll report. Concentration was not happening, especially when a glance at his security camera feed on the computer monitor showed that Francesca was leaving the trapeze room and headed upstairs. Something had upset her based on the set of her jaw and her ramrod posture. He wondered what Livingston said to her to cause the color to drain out of her face and her body to go even more rigid. If the woman got any more wound up, she was going to snap.

He followed her progress to the elevator, his fingers tapping the habitual Morse code messages on the arm of the chair until he realized she was coming his way when she pushed the button for floor three. Triumph, Tilly, and Michael were all on the same floor as her, so that could only mean she was coming to him. He clicked out of the security cameras and waited for her arrival, his heart speeding up.

A knock came. His body immediately responded to knowing she was just outside his door, and that he was about to be alone with her. It didn’t matter that there was a dead body on the ground floor of his club. She was here, and his body didn’t care how inappropriate its reaction to her was. It simply responded to her. It had always been like this. No matter how much he tried to prepare himself, even two years ago, his physical response was immediate. Nothing had changed in all of their time apart.

He attempted to adjust himself so that she wouldn’t be aware of his physical reaction. “Enter,” he called out as he pushed the button to unlock the door, forcing himself to pretend to be immersed in the report on his desk. Internally, he groaned. He smelled her clean scent before he looked up, realizing that the self-adjustment he’d made was pointless because now it was worse. “Special Agent McCabe.” He put his pen down that he hadn’t been using. “The second interrogation begins?”

She clearly did not waste time when she wanted something. “Michael Murphy. How long has he been working for you?”

Tripoli sat back in his chair, elbows on the arms, creating a nonchalance he didn’t really feel. “You mean your brother.”

Her cheeks held bright spots of red. “How long?”

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t know until about twenty minutes ago. He must have seen you and knew that he needed to tell me.” Tripoli reached for his keyboard and pulled up Michael’s personnel file. “He was hired by Rye, the lead bartender at The Library, on November seventh two years ago, and he began work the next day as a barback.”

“And how did he manage to make his way here to San Antonio?”

He noticed she wasn’t writing anything down in her notebook, which meant this questioning was personal.

“He quickly became invaluable. Worked extra shifts. Never turned down work, and he often volunteered for more. Someoneneeded to switch shifts, he was always willing. Wanted to learn anything we were willing to teach him. Quickly, I discovered he had charm with the patrons. The employees loved him. When I decided to open Elysium, I offered him the job as bar manager.”

“And you trust him.”

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