Moving on to Michael Battrelle, she came up with a whole lot of nothing. He was as clean as could be. Never married, he owned a house near Vincent’s in the Shores, had a JD and an MBA, and had worked for his father’s companies his entire life. But appearances could be deceiving. Based on what she’d learned about the Polish mafia, Michael could also be the “cleaner” for his father’s affairs, which required him to appear pristine.

  Next was Darren McMurphy, an attorney who went to law school at USD, just like her parents, then proceeded directly to Milton Biggs & Associates. She’d heard of Biggs at the dinner table growing up, because his firm represented both of the city’s professional sports teams, wealthy real estate developers, and white-collar criminals. At thirty-eight, McMurphy was a partner there, and he’d already been divorced three times, the last time quite recently.

  Katrina could see why from his headshot. He was a rich, pretty boy with full feminine lips and long eyelashes. She suspected he treated women like trophies, trading them out when he grew tired of them.

  Clicking through to the Biggs website, she saw Vitaleron listed among McMurphy’s clients.

  Isn’t that an obvious conflict of interest to be on the Vitaleron board and also serve as the company’s legal representative?

  Since the Battrelles were presently out-of-bounds for her, she saw Darren McMurphy as her only vehicle to learn about the Fontaines. So, she searched the archives for his most recent ex-wife. Fresh bitterness would make her the most likely to talk.

  Wife number three, Daisy Miller McMurphy, was president of the La Jolla High School Booster Club and sold real estate at an agency on Prospect Street.

  “You can call me ‘Muffin,’” she said. “Everyone does.”

  Daisy couldn’t wait to spill the sauce on Darren, who had left her for another woman. She didn’t know the woman’s name, only that she was a younger version of wife number two: a sweet, soft-spoken people-pleaser. Apparently, he had a thing for Filipino women.

  “I wasn’t that surprised, because I was the other woman in the last round. He complained that he was bored being married to a doormat. ‘I want some spice in my life,’ he said. I guess I was the spice until he wanted bland and subservient again.”

  “Did you guys go to high school with Victoria Fontaine?”

  “Yes, but not at the same time. We all went to ‘Dinner Dance’ Friday nights at the Beach Club, but he didn’t talk to me then, because I was too young.”

  “Did you know Victoria?”

  “Not very well. She was a year ahead of me. I actually dated her brother, Cal, before I married Darren. Cal was hot, but kind of a lost soul. I think he left the country after we broke up,” she said, trailing off.

  “I’m trying to find him too,” Katrina said.

  Daisy kept talking as if Katrina hadn’t said a word. “La Jolla is a tiny fishbowl, where we all know each other’s business.”

  She told Katrina about Victoria’s crash, high on oxy. “Going to the McDonald Center in La Jolla was a condition of her probation. She was back in rehab a year later after OD’ing on oxy and whiskey.”

  Does everyone end up at the McDonald Center?

  “She was in the thirty-day inpatient program when she and Alex first hooked up. Their families go way back. But he was five years older than her, plus he and his brother went to Country Day.”

  More context for her tree diagram of connections between Franny, Victoria, Alex, and their families.

  “So, they dated?”

  “Not exactly. Alex was a player, and Victoria was so young back then.”

  “Uh-huh,” Katrina said, urging Daisy to continue.

  “He and Victoria seemed to have a special kind of friendship, but they weren’t together. She got around too, which made him jealous, so he’d come back for more, but never for very long.”

  “They were close friends, then?”

  “You mean like friends with benefits? I guess so, but we didn’t call it that back then. More like recovery-support buddies, there for each other on some level, but not on a day-to-day basis. Probably because Alex was never committed to his recovery. Darren said Alex’s dad put him on the Vitaleron board to help him focus on his sobriety. Alex is quite brilliant.”

  “How long was he on the board?”

  “A couple of years. But Simon forced him out, so Michael took his place.”

  “What about Victoria? Seems like she turned her life around.”

  “With her history of addiction and emotional issues, she had to prove herself first, but Simon finally asked her to help him run Vitaleron.”

  “Did anyone know that Victoria was pregnant?”

  “Wait, what? Do you know who the father was?”

  “No, I don’t. Not for sure, anyway. Who might know?”

  After thinking a moment, Daisy threw out a couple of names, starting with Regina Russell.

  “Regina was a cheerleader with me. I know she’s stayed in touch with Victoria because their fathers are so close. Simon’s partner is on the board and a major investor in Vitaleron as well.”

  Katrina thanked her and immediately called Regina at the surgery office.

  Sounding stressed, Regina seemed happy to vent.

  “Funny you should ask if the police had contacted me, because they left about an hour ago after tossing the place and taking our computers.”

  “What were they looking for?”

  “The warrant listed the obvious official stuff, but I got the feeling they didn’t really know.”

  “Fishing for clues?”

  “Yeah. Like they were hoping to stumble across one.”

  “A common investigative technique,” Katrina said wryly.

  “They wouldn’t tell us anything about the investigation, but they asked a lot of questions about the drugs we keep here.”

  “You do actual surgeries in an outpatient clinic?”

  “Yes. We follow DEA regulations for tracking our narcotic usage and keep all the drugs locked up.”

  “Who was in charge of that?”

  “Esperanza, our surgical nurse. But she’s out today. We’re all still pretty upset—and scared—about the murders.”

  Funny she called them that, since last I heard they were still categorized as suspicious deaths. I wonder if that’s changed.

  “So, your dad is a Vitaleron investor?”

  “Yes, like most every other wealthy La Jolla man over fifty. They’re all hoping this magic drug will be the next big thing. Not just financially, but for the sake of their own virility. My dad’s in the business of improving people’s lives, but he gets a kick at how ‘the rich man’s penis’ has been keeping Vitaleron afloat. Oh, there is one thing I thought was weird.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The police asked if we keep track of syringes in the office and if Dr. Fontaine might have taken some home.”

  “Syringes?”

  “Yes. I thought that was strange, because there was nothing in the paper about syringes at the crime scene. Do you know anything about that?”

  “No, the police won’t tell me anything, even if it is a crime scene,” Katrina said. “Did Dr. Fontaine keep syringes or drugs at home?”

  “Probably. He used to joke about taking shots of B12 in the butt and Botox in the face. It’s funny, but you and Detective Goode are asking the same questions.”

  “I think we’re both trying to find out what happened,” Katrina said. “I mean, Victoria was pregnant, dating a nice rich guy, friend of the family. She had a good job and had been off drugs for years, right?”

  “Wait, Victoria was pregnant?” Regina asked. “That ought to be interesting.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because she and Michael weren’t exclusive.”

  Could Michael have found out that the baby was someone else’s—like his brother’s—and gone into a rage?

  Chapter 16

  Goode

  Monday

  Goode walked back to the Explorer with the freeway roar in his ears as he juggled various scenarios in his mind.

  No wonder Victoria didn’t feel safe walking to her car alone at night. Some crazy shit was going down here, and she was worried—with good reason—that she could be in danger.

  “This is starting to make more sense now,” Stone said when Goode called to brief him.

  “What do you mean?” Goode asked.

  “Why the Vitaleron honchos have hijacked our news conference this afternoon.”

  “Whaat?”

  “Yeah, the lieutenant wanted to talk about the searches, but he was overruled by the chief—and the mayor, apparently—who said the Vitaleron execs would do most of the talking. And not about the searches.”

  “Okay, so what are we talking about, then?”

  “Got me. I guess we’ll find out when the reporters do. Sounds like some Tammany Hall shit to me.”

  “I’m going to give a heads-up to our girl, Katrina. Maybe she can get to the bottom of this,” Goode said.

  “Yeah, about that,” Stone said.

  “What?”

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I got a call while you were in Maui from the mother of Clover Ziegler, that mentally ill girl we thought was a suspect in the Tania Marcus case last year, the one who ended up jumping off the cliffs at Black’s. Apparently, Clover’s mother is still distraught and thinks you should have tried harder to save her daughter. She also said she heard that you had a female witness in your apartment.”

  “Sounds like she was stalking me,” Goode said defensively, caught off guard, partly because the timeline didn’t make sense. “I told you she hit on me the day I went to their house, looking for Clover. My question is why she’s coming forward now.”

  “What witness is she talking about? And why would she be in your apartment?”

  After explaining that the witness was Alison, he tried to deflect any further questions while he reviewed the chain of events in his mind. “You know nothing happened, though, right?”

  He’d never told Stone much about what had happened with Alison—a friend of the victim and a key witness—because he knew he’d committed an ethical lapse that would only get him in hot water. He just couldn’t figure out how Clover’s mother would have known anything about it.

  “Is that a Bill Clinton nondenial denial or a real denial?” Stone asked.

  “Look, I let the girl stay on my couch for a couple of nights, because I heard her crying out from inside her apartment, so I broke her front door down. Remember I told you I found Tania’s father straddling her on the living-room floor with his hand over her mouth? I literally had to pull him off her. I didn’t tell you I let her stay with me because that would have made you complicit. But I swear I sent her home as soon as they put her door back on the hinges.”

  “You said she was staying with a friend,” Stone said.

  “Yeah, well, sorry, chief. She seemed so traumatized I thought she needed personal protection. I wanted to make sure that dude didn’t come after her again,” Goode said. “I almost called Alison for a date after the case died down, but then I thought better of it. She’s a troubled girl, too, and she didn’t need me in her life, confusing her even more.”

  “I’d agree with that. But you should have come clean. You know we have safe houses for this type of thing. That call caught me unawares, which is never good.”

  “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I’m not sure what else to say.”

  “Say that you won’t step over the line again, and certainly not with this reporter while we’re still investigating. And if you do, you need to tell me, pronto.”

  “I won’t. Like I said, she and I both have our jobs to do. We’re professionals.”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. Professional whats?”

  “Very funny.”

  “Okay, call her, but stay in your own lane, and don’t talk to any other reporters about this. Let’s keep this between us and your girl for now.”

  “Happy to,” he said.

  “It’s for your own good, Goode,” Stone said.

  Goode felt relief as Stone inflicted him with the well-weathered pun, which meant the beating was over, at least for now.

  Chapter 17

  Katrina

  Monday

  As soon as Katrina hung up with Regina, Goode called, but he sounded more formal and emotionally detached than usual.

  Something is off.

  “Just wanted to let you know the news conference will be at 4:00 p.m. at headquarters downtown,” he said. “Something political is going on and I don’t know what it is, so I’m counting on you to nose around, shake some trees. Your boy, Michael Battrelle, is going to be there.”

  Katrina was confused. “Why would he do that? I’ve got it covered.”

  “He’s not coming as a representative of the newspaper. He’s on the docket with the Vitaleron honchos.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Yeah, this came down from the mayor and chief. We’re as confused as you are, so I thought you’d want to know.”

  “Definitely. Thanks for the heads-up. Now I have a question for you: What can you tell me about the syringes, drug audits, and the warrant you served at Dr. Fontaine’s office?”

  Silence.

  “Okay, I can say this,” he said after a long pause. “We may or may not choose to release the warrant affidavits, but if we do, they’ll be the ones we want the media to have, because it might help the investigation. Why don’t you ask me when the affidavits will be released by the court?”

  “Huh?”

  As Goode repeated his question, Katrina realized he was trying to teach her how to play his game.

  He can’t tell me things, but he’ll confirm them if I ask the right question. That’s valiant of him.

  “Okay, when will the affidavits be released?”

  “Now that you’ve asked, I’ll have to say that we can’t talk about the specifics of any affidavits, but those that aren’t sealed would be made public ten days after they’re filed with the court, and then only for a short time before they’re no longer a public record. By the way, I’ve been cleared to talk to you, but it has to be off the record. Can we make that a standing order so you don’t have to keep asking me to go on the record?”

  “Um, not really,” she said. “How’d you swing that?”

  “I proposed it, and my sergeant said yes. We go way back.”

  “Are you ever going to tell me anything on the record?”

  “Not for the moment. We’d like to give you the exclusive story once we make an arrest, but in the meantime, we’d ask that you hold off writing things that could tip off any suspects, such as the mention of syringes or drug audits. We’ll do what we just did—where you ask me questions and I answer—so I’m never volunteering information or quoted directly. You can attribute the information to ‘a source knowledgeable about the investigation.’”

  Katrina was hesitant. She’d made deals with sources before, but not when the story was this competitive, and certainly not on her first big story at a new paper. She also wasn’t going to be silenced when she had countless questions.

  “I don’t see how that flies. I’m not going to muzzle myself about details, like the search warrant, which I’ve already learned from other sources. As much as I like you, I’m a watchdog reporter. I’m not here to help you with your investigation.”

  Goode paused again and sighed. “Okay, I get it. You’ve been doing some good legwork, and you’re putting two and two together. We’re not used to that. Normally, the Sun-Dispatch reports what we tell them to—or not to.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said.

  “You should. I don’t give them very often. So, ask your editor about my exclusive-story proposal.”

  “All in good time, Surfer Man.”

  “That’s Detective Surfer Man to you.”

  She hung up smiling. It was good they could be straight with each other. She only wished she didn’t like the sound of his voice so much. It made her all melty inside.

  After the awkward exchange with Linda that morning, Katrina sensed she should talk to someone else about Goode’s proposal. She’d been assigned to Joanne, the Watchdog team editor, her first day at the paper, but Linda had sidelined Joanne on the Fontaine story for some reason.

  Katrina called Joanne’s cell phone so it would sound like a personal call if anyone was around, but hung up as soon as she saw Linda waving her over to John Palmer’s office.

  “He wants to talk to you,” Linda whispered. “Not the best circumstances for an introduction to the boss. Let him talk. Don’t disagree with him. He doesn’t like that, and especially from a new hire.”

  Katrina appreciated the advice, but she didn’t like the increasing apprehension that she’d come to work at a fascist organization. “Okay, so how do I know when to say something?”

  “I’ll nod,” Linda said. “You’ve got to ease into this place, but you’re suddenly in the soup, as they say.”

  As soon as a line of suits filed out of the office, John Palmer motioned for the two women to come in, excitedly recounting the joint promotion the San Diego Padres had just proposed.

  “Go, Padres!” he said.

  Katrina winced inside, trying not to let the disgust show on her face.

  Gawd. What are we, cheerleaders?

  “Welcome,” he said, extending his hand to Katrina. He shook hers firmly, then squeezed. Hard.

  He’s nice looking enough, but he’s overcompensating because he isn’t good with the ladies. Or he simply lacks subtlety in his need to exert dominance. Same difference.

  “How are you enjoying it here so far?” he asked disingenuously.

  “It’s great to be back in my hometown, but as a reporter,” she said.