“Don’t presume to know what a witness is thinking. That kind of arrogance will get you into trouble.”

  Holt took a final bite of salad. “Oh, I found out the name of the second detective who worked the investigation following Rex Meredith’s death. It was Anthony McDermott. He went by Tony.”

  “Yeah, that’s the guy. Why are you interested in Meredith’s death? There’s nothing there.”

  Holt looked past Skip’s shoulder at the door of the restaurant. Skip turned in his chair and followed Holt’s line of sight.

  “What?” Skip asked. “Have you come up with some newly discovered evidence?”

  “No, but reviewing the old evidence has me asking questions. Ralph doesn’t know I’m looking into it—”

  “And you don’t want him to find out because Greg Stevens is giving him a bunch of money for the campaign.”

  “Right. Why did you jump so fast to Stevens?”

  “Because if you’re looking into an alternate theory for the cause of Meredith’s death, Stevens would be the first person I’d pull up on the viewfinder. On the practical side, he’s the person who benefited the most from Meredith’s untimely demise. He may have been the old man’s son-in-law, but he had no real say in the way Meredith ran his empire. He’d even been demoted.”

  “Demoted?”

  “Yeah. Meredith hired Stevens because he was a CPA, but he wasn’t even the top financial adviser on the payroll. He reported to a man named Cantor. Then Stevens starts dating Valerie and ends up marrying her. Cantor retires and Stevens takes his place. This all happened before I came to town, but about a year before his death, Meredith jerks the rug out from under Stevens and hires a guy named Boatwright and puts him in charge. It was a hot item of business gossip.”

  “Why did he do that?”

  “Most people chalked it up to Meredith’s being a jerk, which is a plausible explanation. He had the reputation of changing his mind as quickly as the humidity shoots up or down during the summer.”

  “Did you ever meet him?”

  “Nothing beyond a handshake at a public function. He didn’t like Ralph, and that carried over to everyone who worked in the office.” Skip paused. “But if we stop hypothesizing and realize we’re talking about real people, I can’t imagine Greg Stevens having anything to do with Meredith’s death. I don’t doubt he was thrilled to have the old man out of his life, but killing Meredith or hiring somebody to do it seems far-fetched. Stevens is a mousy accountant. I don’t think he has a sinister dark side. And even if he did, convincing the sheriff’s department and Ralph to cover it up is a crazy theory.”

  Hearing Skip describe so openly what Holt had been secretly mulling over made sense.

  “You’re probably right,” he said. “But I’d still like to ask McDermott a few questions.”

  Holt told him what happened earlier in the day at the printer. Skip shrugged. “Ralph will forget about McDermott, then bring it up out of the blue when you least expect it next week or next month. The stuff in his brain isn’t well organized, but it isn’t lost, either.”

  “I know.”

  Skip’s face grew serious.

  “And he is your boss. Holt, going rogue as an assistant DA is not how things are done.”

  “You think I should tell him?”

  “Yes, and get his okay to interview McDermott. The idea that Ralph is part of a criminal cover-up isn’t believable. His greatest fear is that he will lose his job, and he knows there aren’t any district attorneys prosecuting cases from inside a jail cell. Ralph isn’t a risk taker. He may plead out cases to pad his statistics, but he wouldn’t take a bribe or tell a lie that might send him to prison.”

  Holt couldn’t disagree with any aspect of Skip’s assessment of Ralph. He wasn’t as sure about Greg Stevens. Skip pointed to the display case for the pastries.

  “I’ll get one of those éclairs if you do,” he said.

  “That would cancel out the benefits of the salad.”

  “You’ll burn up one of those éclairs in ten minutes on the basketball court.”

  “You convinced me.”

  “Man, I’m good.” Skip smiled. “And fast. Oh, and tell Angelina that not only is she gorgeous, but she’s an awesome matchmaker. I’d be honored to go out to dinner with Brittany so long as Angelina is along to chaperone.”

  “That means I’ll be there, too.”

  “A necessary evil. Maybe you can pick up the tab.”

  “You know what I make a year.”

  “And that’s what I’ll tell my clients this afternoon when I hit them up for more gift cards.”

  Holt parked next to Jim Montgomery’s car. Only Ralph had a reserved space, and he parked closer to the front door than someone with a handicap sticker. Inside, Holt was on his way into his office when Belinda called out to him.

  “Holt!”

  He went over to the administrator’s desk.

  “Come closer,” she said.

  Holt leaned over.

  “Do you want to hear some good news?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “Yes.”

  “The county budget committee is going to recommend the full supplement Ralph wants to add to your base salary.”

  “Really?” Holt raised his eyebrows. “I’d heard there was going to be a budget shortfall for the coming fiscal year.”

  “The county got a big shot in their bank account from an unexpected source. It’s a designated gift.”

  “A gift?”

  “From the Meredith Trust. Most of the money is allocated for education and health care, but there was a slice for law enforcement. A piece of that is going to you.”

  Holt was about to go on Greg Stevens’s payroll. “That’s amazing,” he managed. “How much is Stevens giving?”

  “Ralph didn’t tell me,” Belinda replied, pointing to a stack of notes. “But he asked me to type up his notes from the meeting, and I figured out what happened. I’m sure they’ll make a huge announcement in the newspaper. Act surprised and grateful when Ralph tells you. He’ll take the credit for pulling it off.”

  Holt went into his office. Greg Stevens wasn’t fitting into the mold of a cold, calculating killer.

  Unless, of course, generosity was his way of dealing with guilt.

  When her shift ended at 3:00 p.m., Trish didn’t go home. Instead, she phoned Sue Ann. On the way to her friend’s apartment, she stopped at a local ice-cream shop and ordered three scoops of double chocolate chunk in an extra-large cup. The ice cream was getting soft by the time Trish walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. As soon as Sue Ann opened the door, Candace scrambled past her mother’s legs and onto the landing. Holding the cup of ice cream in one hand, Trish managed to corral the toddler with the other.

  “She’s worse than a puppy that wants to bolt out the door as soon as it’s cracked open,” Sue Ann said.

  “I’ve got something that will convince her to go back inside.”

  Trish lowered the cup of ice cream so Candace could see it. The little girl squealed, stuck her index finger in it, and popped it into her mouth.

  “No!” Sue Ann yelled. “You don’t know where that finger has been!”

  Trish held the cup of ice cream higher and led Candace back into the house.

  “Put that in the fridge while I wash her hands,” Sue Ann said. “She’s going to get messy eating it, but at least it will be a sanitary mess.”

  Trish went into the kitchen and opened the freezer door. The refrigerator was well stocked with identical frozen pizzas.

  “Does Mark love pizza?” she called out.

  Sue Ann returned with Candace in tow. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear over the running water.”

  “What’s with all the pizzas in the freezer?”

  “Most of the time Mark would rather have a pizza than a homecooked meal. My mother gives me a hard time about it, but I told her it’s a blessing that he’s easy to please. Especially with—” Sue Ann stopped.

  “What?” Trish looked at her wide-eyed.

  Sue Ann gave her a sheepish grin. “Another baby on the way. It was a total accident, but now that it’s happened I’m happy. Mark is excited, too. I hope he stays positive if it’s another girl. He really wants a boy.”

  “Congratulations!” Trish gave Sue Ann a big hug.

  Candace pulled on her mother’s shirt. “Ice dream,” the little girl said.

  Sue Ann put Candace in her booster seat with a towel wrapped around her so only her right hand was free. Sue Ann then secured the towel with a clothes pin and put another towel beneath the little girl’s chair.

  “Okay, I think we’re ready for ice dream.”

  Trish took out her phone and snapped a picture. “I want before-and-after shots.”

  Sue Ann put a small portion of the ice cream in a plastic bowl for Candace and a larger amount for her and Trish. Candace looked at the three bowls and yelled in protest. Sue Ann gave the child a tiny bit more.

  “If you get mad, I’m going to take all of it away from you,” she warned.

  Trish watched the little girl’s face as she processed the seriousness of the threat. Without saying anything else, Candace picked up her spoon and deposited most of a messy bite into her mouth. Sue Ann ate a spoonful and closed her eyes.

  “How did you know this was what I needed more than anything else in the world this afternoon?” she asked.

  “Because that’s what you’ve wanted more than anything else in the world every afternoon since we were in elementary school.”

  “I do love chocolate.”

  “That’s double chocolate,” Trish corrected.

  They ate in silence for a few moments. Candace seemed to enjoy the chance to play with her ice cream as much as eating it. Eventually she laid her spoon on the table and, just as she did when greeting Trish at the door, began sticking her finger into the ice cream and transferring it to her mouth.

  “Speaking of love,” Sue Ann said, “what’s the status of your love life? Any progress with Holt?”

  “That’s gotten more complicated.”

  “Complicated sounds interesting.” Sue Ann perked up.

  Trish told Sue Ann about dinner with Keith and his excitement about the property on Cockburn Road.

  “I wish Mark had new-house fever,” Sue Ann sighed, then quickly added, “Sorry. I shouldn’t be thinking about myself while you’re telling me about you.”

  “That’s okay. You need a bigger nest for more baby chicks.”

  Sue Ann scraped the bottom of her bowl with a spoon. “You know, I understand why you’re questioning your interest in Holt, but the way you talk about Keith sounds more like shopping for a new car than falling in love with a man.”

  Sue Ann’s comment stuck like a barb of truth in Trish’s heart. She quickly ate a last bite of ice cream to ease the sting. Chocolate wasn’t her favorite. She liked French vanilla.

  Trish reached for her phone and took a photo of Candace, who looked like she’d rubbed her face with brown goo.

  “I don’t know,” Trish said. “Sometimes my dreams about the future are as messy as Candace when she’s finished eating her ice dream.”

  19

  Holt apprehensively waited for Ralph to come by his office. At 4:30 p.m. he received a text message from the DA, who’d left without Holt knowing it:

  At Quail Ridge. Just birdied number 9. Have good news for you. What time will you be at the office in the morning?

  Holt knew that Ralph preferred early meetings even if neither of them needed to be in court.

  8:00 a.m. Okay? Congrats on the birdie.

  Yes.

  The ninth hole on the Quail Ridge golf course was a short par four that yielded a lot of birdies so golfers would be in a good mood when taking a midround break in the clubhouse. For Ralph, any birdie involved a healthy dose of fortuitous ball striking.

  With Ralph on the golf course, Holt decided asking for forgiveness was better than waiting for permission. He called the phone number for Tony McDermott. A woman answered. According to the database, McDermott hadn’t remarried.

  “Tony McDermott, please,” Holt said.

  “Daddy!” the woman called out. “Telephone!”

  Holt checked his info sheet. McDermott had two daughters, both of whom were in their thirties.

  “McDermott here,” said a male voice that still had a police-beat sound to it.

  “This is Holt Douglas. I’m an assistant district attorney in Ashley County, and I’d like to ask you a few questions about a case you investigated when you were with the sheriff’s department a few years ago.”

  “Douglas?”

  “Yes. I came to town after you left.”

  “How do I know you’re really with the DA’s office?”

  It wasn’t a question Holt had anticipated. “Uh, what sort of proof do you need?”

  “Just a second,” McDermott said. “Something I can verify that’s not on the county website I just pulled up.”

  “Do you see my picture?” Holt asked.

  “Tall guy with curly brown hair. How old are you?”

  “Twenty-eight.” Holt racked his brain for a credible piece of additional information. “How about this? For years the busiest defense lawyer in this circuit has been Dirk Rangel. When he’s talking to Judge Lomax he likes to hold out his hand like he’s posing for a Michelangelo statue.”

  McDermott laughed. “I haven’t thought about Rangel since I left Paxton. He can be an arrogant jerk, especially when he has something to work with on a case.”

  “He recently beat me on a motion to suppress in a drug case,” Holt replied. “It stung, but I had a big evidentiary problem caused by the detective who made the arrest.”

  “Who was that?”

  Holt immediately regretted bringing up the Morton case because it would require him to criticize a law enforcement officer, but he knew he had to answer. McDermott didn’t seem like the type who would accept a diversion.

  “Butch Clovis.”

  Holt could hear McDermott grunt. “I’m not surprised. What’s on your mind?”

  “Rex Meredith’s death.”

  The phone was silent for a moment.

  “Go ahead,” McDermott said.

  “I obtained a copy of the file at the sheriff’s office. It contains a report from Clovis concluding that Meredith committed suicide. You’re listed as the other detective who worked the case, but there isn’t a report from you. Did you prepare one?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Here with me.”

  Holt stopped breathing for a second. “Could I ask you a few questions about it?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be right back.”

  While McDermott was away from the phone, Holt chided himself for not being better prepared for the call. He quickly jotted down several more questions.

  “I’m back,” McDermott said.

  Holt glanced down at his legal pad. “Why wasn’t your report in the sheriff’s department file?”

  “Because they didn’t want a minority opinion. Clovis and Sheriff Blackstone told me to shred it, but I didn’t. Their primary concern was that my report might get out to the press and cause a stink. I wasn’t interested in that. I just wanted to do my job.”

  “Did Ralph Granger know about your report?”

  “I can’t say. We never discussed it. He worked directly with Blackstone on that case. Clovis knew I had questions, but he and Blackstone were against me so I let it go. Did you listen to the 911 call from Meredith’s son-in-law?”

  “No, all I had was a transcript, but it didn’t read like he was upset.”

  “That’s what my notes say, too. I wanted to spend some time with Stevens and probe from different angles to see if his story held up under pressure, but I wasn’t given the chance to do it.”

  “What would you have asked him?”

  “About the timeline of events on the evening of Meredith’s death. Who, what, when, where questions with Stevens, his wife, who was Meredith’s stepdaughter, and the caretaker who lived on the property.”

  “The caretaker was there the night of Meredith’s death?”

  “Yeah, the guy with the speech impediment. I didn’t get a chance to interview him, either. Clovis talked to him and told me he didn’t have anything to add. It was the same with the stepdaughter. According to Clovis, they all came into the room about the same time and found Meredith lying on the floor. He’d been shot at close range in the chest. However, I never got a clear answer as to how each person came to be in the house and then ended up together when the body was found.”

  “Is there a summary of what Clovis claims the caretaker said?”

  “Nothing except that he confirmed Stevens’s story. Of course, what bothered me the most were the questions about the gun.”

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “I thought Clovis included it in his report, but maybe he didn’t. The fingerprints on the weapon were a mess, which made me think more than one person in the study may have handled it. Greg Stevens told Clovis that Meredith was still alive when they found him, and he took the gun from the old man’s hand so he couldn’t get off another shot.”

  “He didn’t shoot himself in the heart?”

  “Close to it, but no. It tore up his chest enough that he didn’t make it to the hospital.”

  “What about the fingerprints?”

  “In addition to Stevens messing with the gun, the medics got there and disturbed everything while trying to keep Meredith alive. Before I got shut down by Blackstone, I got a fingerprint card from Greg Stevens and one from Meredith’s corpse at the hospital morgue and then supervised the dusting of the gun myself.”

  “Were there any identifiable prints?”

  “None that we could lift. Everything was smudged and partial and there were gaps, as if someone tried to wipe the gun clean and did a sloppy job. One thing particularly stuck out. The trigger was completely spotless, nothing on it. Nobody claimed Meredith was wearing gloves when he shot himself. You wouldn’t expect to find a full print on the trigger, but it should have something. I would have dug into that if I’d been given the chance. The other issue related to the shot fired prior to the one that hit Meredith in the chest.”