“You have to let me out of here. I have to take care of my son. He just lost his father. I need to be with him.”
“I’m afraid that’s not going to happen until we’re able to prove you had nothing to do with your husband’s murder.”
“I didn’t!”
“Great. Once we can prove that, you’ll be free to go. In the meantime, hang tight.”
Gonzo took great pleasure in leaving the room, certain they had their killer—or at least the person who’d arranged the killing.
“Do you want to bet there’s no Lexus?” Sam asked when she emerged from the observation room with Charity Miller.
“I’ll take that bet and raise you a Mercedes-Benz,” Charity said.
“Is it wrong for us to be so giddy about nailing a murdering scumbag?” Gonzo asked.
“We have to get our jollies where we can on this job,” Sam said, “although I feel a little bit responsible for Bryson Thorn’s death. If we hadn’t made a federal case out of him releasing those photos, he’d still be alive.”
“You’re not the one who killed him, Lieutenant,” Gonzo said. “This is on her—and her gardener.”
Green joined them two minutes later. “Shocker that the dealership has no record of anyone by the name of Thorn putting a cash down payment on a Lexus this week.”
“Somehow I knew you were going to say that.” Gonzo felt almost gleeful to have further proof that Tiffany Thorn was a lying sack of shit. “Let’s go back in and see what other bullshit she’s got for us.”
When they burst back into the room, Tiffany startled, which gave Gonzo additional pleasure. He was having way too much fun with this one.
“The Lexis dealership confirms they have no record of you or your twenty-five grand this week.”
“That’s outrageous! I’ll never do business with them again!”
“You can sit there and lie to us all day, and we’ll take the time to debunk every single lie before we get to the truth of how you hired your gardener to murder your husband because you were infuriated that he’d ruined your chance to ever be invited to the White House.”
Her expression went completely blank with shock.
Bull’s-eye.
“I… That… That’s not what happened.”
“Isn’t it? When did you find out that your husband was the one who leaked the photos of the president at the birthday party? Was it when cops came to see him, or was it when the president and first lady slapped a lawsuit on him?”
Tiffany crossed her arms and gave him a bullish look, but he noticed her entire body was trembling, as if she’d been plugged into a wall socket. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure, you don’t. It must’ve made you really mad that your husband was the one to violate the NDA. Were the other mommies pissed at you for maybe ruining their chances of being invited to the White House for the twins’ party next year?”
Her mouth flopped open, but nothing came out.
Sometimes this horrible job was awfully fun. Gonzo shuffled through the pages of text messages that Archie had provided. “Your gardener, Holman, must’ve been excited when you offered him anal if he killed your husband. What was he more excited about? That, the money or the green-card marriage you promised him?”
Tiffany’s eyes bugged. “That’s revolting. I’ve never done that.”
“I know. You said as much to Holman, promising him a prize that not even your husband had gotten. So which was he more excited about? The twenty-five large or the anal?”
“You’re vile.”
“At least I’m not a murderer.”
“I never laid a hand on my husband,” she said, her voice much less venomous than it had been before it became obvious to her that she was totally screwed, glued and tattooed, as the lieutenant would say.
“No, but you hired Holman to take care of him for you. He’s on his way in. I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell us how it all went down to keep from spending the rest of his life in prison.”