After he knocked on the first door, a frightened woman in her eighties emerged, clasping her purse with both hands over her head, her arms shaking with the effort. “Go on outside, ma’am, thank you.”

  His next knock got no answer, so he opened up the second door. Empty.

  Moving down the line, the next three stalls were vacant. He heard a woman in the last one, crying.

  “It’s all right, ma’am, I’m a police detective, it’s safe to come out. Slowly, now. Hands in the air.”

  He heard the lock turn, and as he slowly opened the door, he saw Esperanza sitting on the toilet, fully clothed and trembling, her hands above her head, with streams of mascara running down her face.

  “You don’t have any more syringes on you, do you?” he asked.

  She shook her head, looking up at him like a frightened child.

  “Okay, stand up and come out slowly. That’s it.”

  Glancing her over, he didn’t see any lumpy pockets. He carefully patted her down as they stood in front of the mirror, watching for any protrusions or needles poking out, then cuffed her.

  “Let’s go. We’re going downtown to take the statement I’ve been trying to get for the past few days,” he said, hoping she would say something incriminating or useful as they headed back to the lobby. He didn’t have to wait long.

  “It was Darren’s,” she said. “I saw him put the syringe in his pocket after he used it on Katrina. I waited till we got to the lobby, where it was crowded, then grabbed it and stuck him in the neck with it. It still had enough for one person, and I’m pretty sure that was supposed to be me. I don’t know if he ever loved me. I’m just a loose end now.”

  When they got back to the lobby, the paramedics had McMurphy on a gurney, bagged with an oxygen mask until they were sure he could breathe on his own. He was conscious, but Stone and Foster weren’t taking any chances. Cuffing his wrists to the metal bars, the detectives escorted McMurphy and the paramedics to the ambulance.

  “I’m going with. Make sure he doesn’t try something,” Foster said.

  “Good man,” Goode said.

  Esperanza stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw McMurphy, forcing Goode to take her arm and pull her along. “I don’t want him to see me with you,” she said.

  “It’s okay, we’ve got you now. We can put you into protective custody if we need to.”

  “He and his father have people,” she said cryptically. “And someone on the inside at the police department.”

  “Do you know who it is?”

  “No,” she said. “Sorry.”

  Great. Just what we need. Can’t wait to hear more about that.

  Out on the street, police cars were lined up next to the two ambulances. TV reporters were milling around, filming Katrina and McMurphy being loaded into separate ambulances while Goode placed Esperanza into the back of a cruiser.

  But that night, leading the news on every channel was Congressman Winchester, cuffed and scowling as FBI agents pushed him into an unmarked black vehicle that would take him to the federal lockup downtown to await his arraignment on some preliminary holding charges.

  “Let’s let him stew for a night or two before I ask him about the Fontaines’ murder again,” Goode told Watts, his new best friend at the FBI. “He’s got to know by now that he’s going down. Have fun.”

  “Oh, I intend to,” Watts said. “I’m kind of excited about it.”

  Goode completely understood. He felt the same way.

  Chapter 62

  Goode

  Saturday

  It was an extremely long night. Goode couldn’t be everywhere at once, but, overall, the interrogations went well, because he already had most of the pieces in place.

  He and Stone arranged for Esperanza to be held at the station while they followed Darren McMurphy’s ambulance to the UCSD Medical Center in Hillcrest. Sedated and chained to the bed, McMurphy had no way to run or lie his way out this time, especially with a two-man detail posted outside his room.

  Nonetheless, Goode made sure a couple of officers were also stationed at Katrina’s room at the Coronado hospital, in case Winchester’s bodyguard or some other mercenary tried to snuff her into silence.

  I really wish I knew who the mole was. Because now I’m looking at every badge and uniform and wondering if I can trust them.

  It felt good to see McMurphy lying there, helpless. But even as Goode read him his rights, he still managed to act like an asshat.

  Victoria’s memo made it sound like the “threesome” photos were taken while she was unconscious, so Goode doubted it had even occurred. Still, McMurphy insisted that it had. He admitted to arranging the whole thing, but he tried to play it off as good-natured fun among consenting adults. He was also surprisingly dismissive about the pregnancy.

  “She seemed more interested in Darla than Brandon, so I doubt it’s his,” McMurphy said.

  “You saw Victoria as a threat and killed her to get her out of your way, is that correct?” Goode asked.

  “I wouldn’t waste my effing time killing her. Talk to Espee. She’s the nurse with access to narcotics.”

  What a sociopath. Lying without an ounce of remorse.

  From there, Goode headed downtown to take Esperanza’s statement at HQ, which confirmed his initial suspicions that she was a victim, not an active player. He was also pleased to hear that McMurphy had told her that his father was the linchpin of the conspiracy, a juicy admission he could use to confront both father and son.

  Stone arranged for a prosecutor from the DA’s office to come in to offer her an immunity deal in exchange for testifying against Darren and Patrick McMurphy, the latter of whom was immediately brought in for questioning.

  “Darren deserves everything he gets. Just show me where to sign,” Esperanza said, shaking her head in disbelief. “He thought his plan was so clever that you’d never figure it out. But he never anticipated that the Battrelles would move Dr. F’s body and mess with the crime scene, like you said. I wonder if he even knows they did that.”

  “We’ll find out,” Stone said. “If they hadn’t, we might have actually believed it was a suicide—an overdose and a distraught father, just like he conjured up.”

  “Except for the nasty bruising and the gunshot wound on the wrong side of his head,” Goode said.

  “And the security cameras,” Stone said.

  “And that he injected Katrina.”

  “Why do criminals always think they’re smarter than we are?”

  “By the way,” Goode said, “do you know if the McMurphys knew the Chopin family or had anything to do with the Double-Judge Murders?”

  “I have no idea,” Esperanza said. “I’m not even sure if my relationship with Darren was real or if he was only using me to get to the succinylcholine. He’s not the man I thought he was. I didn’t know him at all.”

  Based on Esperanza’s statement, Goode was confident they could build a strong conspiracy case to take the McMurphys down, along with Winchester and Darla. Given the Battrelles’ messy cover-up at the house, he doubted that they were in on the murder conspiracy scheme, though obstruction charges were certainly in the mix for them.

  In addition to conspiracy to steal trade secrets, Winchester was also looking good for federal corruption charges, soliciting, and accepting a bribe via campaign donations and other illegal gifts. The threat of an additional felony murder charge, and possibly conspiracy to murder, was on the table as well.

  While Goode was waiting for Darren McMurphy to be deemed stable enough for jail transport, he got a call from Darla, who had managed to escape amid the chaos. After running to a friend’s house, she immediately called FBI headquarters to try to weasel an immunity deal for herself. Goode was her second call, during which she backed Darren’s claims about his father.

  “The FBI is on their way to pick me up, but I’ll tell you everything you want to know,” she said. “I know who planned this, who carried it out, and why. You won’t even believe the full extent of it. There’s a whole cabal of rich men who run this city and make secret deals, and Patrick McMurphy is at the nexus of it. They forced me to participate in all of this.”

  “They forced you to steal the drugs from the lab?” he asked. “Did they force you to take them before sex too?”

  “That was Darren’s idea. He is one kinky dude, and he got Brandon hooked along with him. My career, my reputation, my relationship, and my future were all on the line.”

  Watts called Goode right afterward, confirming that they would consider an immunity deal for Darla, as well, but not until they got her into a room to hear her story in detail.

  “I’m interrogating Winchester, trying to get him to cooperate, right now,” Watts said. “We’ve got him good, but this will seal the deal. Two of my guys are picking her up now. Sounds like she’ll be a key witness.”

  “Be careful, though. She’s a wily one. For all I know, this whole scheme was her idea.”

  Goode planned to inflict a much more stringent grilling on Darren McMurphy once he was behind bars. His pretty-boy face, expensive haircut, and entitled attitude would surely get him a good beatdown from other inmates of lesser means, which often helped facilitate an interrogation. But in the meantime, Goode had a few questions for him before he was loaded into the transport van around 5:00 a.m.

  “Why did you wear a police uniform into the house?”

  Darren didn’t even flinch, his icy, pale-blue eyes devoid of emotion. “I wasn’t there,” he retorted. “If it wasn’t Darla, it was probably a dirty female cop. I told you Victoria liked to play both sides of the bed.”

  Well, that clinches that. He definitely put on the lipstick as a ruse.

  “Sorry, no dice,” Goode replied. “We have security footage of you going in and out of there. Lipstick and all. We also have a witness who put you there, and I’m sure your cell phone records will confirm that.”

  Let’s see if Daddy confesses or denies all knowledge of this and lets his son take the fall.

  Chapter 63

  Goode

  Saturday

  While Goode’s teammates, Foster and Byron, were picking up Patrick McMurphy for questioning, Goode headed back to Coronado to check on Katrina. He was not at all surprised to see her dressed and waiting impatiently in her room for the doctor to sign her discharge papers.

  “You’re up early. It’s five thirty,” he said. “Did you get any sleep?”

  “A little. It’s hard when those machines are beeping constantly. The nurse kept coming in to make sure I was alive,” she said, coughing, her voice still a little rough. “She kept saying, ‘Your blood pressure is so low.’ Must be all that running. Nothing a double cappuccino won’t cure. What about you?”

  “Yeah, I’m running on fumes myself. I was up all night and was camped outside some chiquita’s apartment for a couple nights before that. I wish I could catch a nap, but I’ve got interrogations lined up like planes on a runway.”

  “Who would that be? On the record, please. I’ve earned it, and I’m going straight to the newsroom as soon as I get out of here,” she said, pulling a notebook out of her purse.

  Goode gave her a quick overview that would suffice for her first blockbuster story, promising to fill in more details as they interviewed and arrested everyone else. As long as she called Stone for the official quotes.

  “We’re picking up McMurphy’s father as we speak. Darla’s singing to the FBI right now.”

  “I’m still not sure about her,” Katrina said.

  “Yeah, me neither.”

  “By the way, getting shot up with succinylcholine was a huge pain in my ass,” she said, laughing. “What took you so long to come to Esperanza’s room? I thought I was going to die.”

  “I got there as soon as I could,” he said, recounting his near face-plant in the fire-escape stairwell.

  “Is she okay?”

  “Yes. Long story,” he said, describing her vigilante neck injection in the lobby before Goode retrieved her from the restroom stall. “She was pretty shaken. She said Winchester had planned to hold you until Darren could come and give you the jab, but you escaped, thanks to Stone.”

  “I knew they were up to something, but yeah, it was a close call,” she said. “Speaking of which, where is that jackass, McMurphy?”

  “On his way to jail.”

  Katrina’s face lit up as Goode listed all the state and federal charges that McMurphy and Winchester were up against.

  “Basically, they’re toast,” he said.

  “So, they were in it together?”

  “Looks that way. Simon Fontaine was most likely unintentional collateral damage, but Darla said Darren McMurphy’s father runs a ‘cabal’—her word, not mine—that could have ordered the hit. We’re not sure of her credibility at this point since she was stealing the drug, which is essentially a trade secret, from Vitaleron for her and Darren’s personal use. She’s trying to blame him, but we’ll see what shakes out.”

  “Do we know whose baby Victoria was carrying?”

  “Not until the DNA tests come back. Alex and Michael agreed to give samples, so we’ll all know eventually, but the family wants to give the fetus a proper burial no matter what. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that it could be Winchester’s, but that depends on whether those photos were staged or taken during an alleged threesome while Victoria was passed out.”

  “Threesome?”

  “Yeah, it’s in a memo Victoria wrote, detailing all the shenanigans that give us a menu of motives. I’ll send you a copy.”

  “Awesome. But what I really need to know is whether Vincent Battrelle is involved in this whole cabal conspiracy?”

  “That’s unclear right now. He definitely plays in the same arena, but that’s an open question. At the minimum, we’ve got him and Michael on evidence tampering and obstruction, so we’ll press them for information to force the McMurphys to talk. They could make a deal, I suppose, and get a slap on the wrist. Depends on what else comes out.”

  “What happens to Esperanza?”

  “Since we gave her immunity, she’ll be our star prosecution witness. You, too, if you’re willing.”

  Katrina shook her head. “You can leave me out of it, thank you. But now that I have firsthand experience with the same drug that killed the Fontaines, it should make for a great first-person story. When did you learn about the succinylcholine? It wasn’t in the toxicology report.”

  “Not until yesterday morning,” he said, outlining his and Artie’s detective work. “But we still didn’t know who did the injecting or why until last night.”

  “I can’t believe you let me go meet with these guys,” she said, shaking her head again.

  “What are you talking about? You completely ignored my warning.”

  “I was kidding. Kind of. But you’re right,” she said, smiling. “By the way, did I say thank you?”

  “Not necessary,” Goode said, pausing dramatically before taking a step toward her. “You can just go to dinner with me.”

  She laughed and playfully raised her hand in a “stop” gesture. “Permission for dinner granted, but not until I’m done with this story and all the follow-ups. So no more inappropriate contact until then. I mean it. I don’t want either of us to lose our jobs. After that, you can help me figure out if any of these characters were involved with my parents’ murder, because that’s what I’m working on next. Unofficially, of course.”

  Goode nodded respectfully and smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

  Chapter 64

  Goode

  Saturday

  As Goode was leaving the hospital, Watts called to say he was finished with Darla and that Goode could stop by FBI headquarters for a briefing and to ask her a few questions before he confronted Patrick McMurphy back at the station downtown.

  “So, Patrick was the one driving this train, and he got Darren and Winchester to do the dirty work?” Goode asked Darla.

  “As far as I know, yes. I won’t testify against my fiancé, but I will say this: Darren told Winchester that his dad instructed him to ‘take care of this mess.’ I don’t know if the rest of the cabal was involved or not.”

  “I overheard Darren talking to his dad on the phone earlier, and Patrick did not sound pleased, so Darren may have acted on his own,” she went on. “Simon was a close associate of Patrick’s and he wasn’t even supposed to be home when this happened, so I find it hard to believe that murdering him and Victoria was a group directive.”

  “Maybe things got out of hand. But my guess is that greed and sociopathy run in the McMurphy genes,” Goode said.

  He also knew that bringing charges was one thing and getting convictions was another.

  As Goode sat across from Patrick McMurphy at the interrogation table, he saw the same icy-blue eyes as Darren’s staring back at him. Goode stayed silent for a couple of minutes, waiting to see if Patrick would volunteer anything. But Patrick was stoic, his mouth tight, the breath whistling through his nose.

  “You all right there, Mr. McMurphy?” Goode asked. “You sound like you’re having trouble breathing.”

  “Not at all. I don’t know why you’re wasting my time bringing me down here,” Patrick snapped. “I had nothing to do with any of this.”

  “That’s not what your son says,” Goode lied. “Or my other witnesses.”

  “My son is not my responsibility; he’s a grown man. He makes his own choices,” Patrick said.

  “From what I hear, you instructed him to ‘take care of this mess.’ Are you denying that?”

  “I’m an investor in Vitaleron and I wanted him to right the ship, which he did by taking over as chairman. That’s all I was referring to.”

  “So, you didn’t instruct him to dress up like a police officer and kill Victoria and Simon Fontaine?”