Page 30 of Ghost of You
“What?” Ronan asked, sounding excited.
“Frankie applied for a duplicate license the dayafterthe bank account was opened.” Jude tapped his phone and the printer whirled to life. “But, that’s not all.”
“Did you look up the IP Address?” Fitz asked, as he grabbed the printout.
“I sure did.” Jude snorted. You’ll never guess where it originated from.”
“City Hall?” Ronan asked.
“Nope, try again,” Jude was loving every moment of this. There was nothing better than stupid criminals.
“Watson’s house,” Fitzgibbon said, sounding incredulous.
“We’ve got a bingo!” Jude laughed.
“Let’s go get this fucker!” Ronan got to his feet.
“Everyone, hold on. I’ll apply for the warrant to search Watson’s home and work computers,” Fitz walked back into his office.
“I’ll text Cope and tell him we’ll pick him up in a bit.” Jude grinned as his thumbs flew over the keyboard.
Jude didn’t think Watson killed Frankie. He’d set it up so that it looked like she stole the money. There would have been no reason to kill her. If someone noticed the money had been stolen, all Watson would have to do was pack a bag and get on a plane to a country with a non-extradition treaty. They were going to solve the embezzlement case and were quickly closing in on Frankie’s killer.
It was only a matter of time.
14
Cope
Two hours later, Cope sat in the backseat of Fitzgibbon’s SUV as they headed toward Derby Street where Ambrose Watson lived, for the moment at least. If Fitz didn’t slap the handcuffs on him today, it was likely the man would flee to parts unknown. If it were Cope, he’d fly to the south of France, get a little plastic surgery done and live out his life quietly, with a boatload of cash in the bank. With a million dollars and friends in high places, the sky was the limit for Watson.
“Slow down, it’s the third house on the right.” Ronan pointed. “With the U-Haul truck in the driveway, it wouldn’t have been hard to pick out which house was Watson’s.”
Fitz parked the SUV several houses down and appeared to be studying the property. “Jude, do a search on the house. See if it’s listed with a realtor or if it’s been recently sold.”
“It’s not for sale and hasn’t been sold,” Cope said from the backseat. In this instance, they didn’t need the internet. Cope could read the situation like a book.
“Well then who the hell is moving out?” Ronan asked, as two men closed the truck’s cargo door and climbed into the cab.
“Count to ten.” Cope snickered. “You’re about to find out.” He’d seen what was about to happen in stunning clarity. Under other circumstances it might be funny, but not with Frankie Adams dead and a million stolen dollars in the wind.
“Go fuck yourself, you cheating bastard!” A woman screamed as she burst through the front door. “I hope that skinny, titless bitch was worth it.” The woman was gorgeous, even as angry as she was. She was tall with long blonde hair that reached toher waist. It flew out behind her as she stormed toward her car. Dressed in a crop top with her boobs threatening to spill out and yoga pants that left nothing to the imagination, Cope could see what attracted Watson to her.
“Parker, please!” Watson shouted at the woman. He ran out the front door and stumbled down the stairs. “Just listen to me. It’s not what you think. Briana means nothing to me. She’s just another whore on the grift.”
“Then the two of you are perfect for each other, aren’t you?” Parker floated down the driveway toward a newish looking Toyota sedan. She started the car and shifted it into gear.
“Parker, wait!” Watson sprinted in front of the revving vehicle. He stood his ground with his hands out in front of him. “Stop! Fucking stop!”
“Okay, let’s go!” Fitz shook his head. “Ronan, you and I will grab Romeo, Jude, you’ve got Juliet. She’s angry, make sure you use her anger against her to get whatever you can from her. Cope, stay with Jude. We’re gonna bring Watson back into the house and you can work your magic on him then.”
“Got it,” Cope said. He and Jude got out of the SUV and headed toward Parker, who was shouting for Watson to get out of her fucking way.
“Mr. Watson?” Fitzgibbon called out, flashing his badge. “I’m Captain Kevin Fitzgibbon from the Salem Police Cold Case Unit. My colleagues and I are here to talk to you about Francesca Adams’s murder.”
“Can’t you see I’m fucking busy!” Watson’s eyes never left Parker, who looked like she wanted to run him over.
“Come with us, Mr. Watson,” Ronan said, taking the man’s right elbow. Fitzgibbon grabbed the left.
