No One Left to Tell (49 page)

‘I’ll—’ She’d nearly said
I’ll try
. But there truly was no
try
in such matters. ‘I won’t.’

Thursday, April 7, 8.45
A.M
.

‘I’ll be in touch, Mrs Shaffer.’ PI Sheldon Dupree shook her hand as they concluded their short meeting. ‘Be careful.’

Adele put her checkbook away. The PI’s retainer had put a dent in her savings, despite keeping his rates modest through low-rent real estate. ‘I’ll try. Thank you for seeing me this morning. I know it was short notice.’

‘You’re quite welcome. Where will you go from here?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. I guess I’m apartment hunting today.’

‘Or you could tell your husband the truth and work it out. Either way, I will proceed with the plan we agreed to.’

Telling Darren wasn’t an option even if she’d wanted to. She’d already tried calling him this morning so that she could talk to Allie, to let her baby hear her voice on the phone. He’d declined her calls. She’d drive to his mother’s house before beginning a search for an apartment. And if it was possible, she’d take her baby back.

She picked up the bag containing the cameras Dupree wanted her to mount on her car. They’d capture anyone following her. It was the low-cost option on his menu. She simply couldn’t afford to have him be her shadow. Hopefully she’d see someone following her in time to call 911 before they ran her off the road again.

‘I’ll let you know where to reach me when I’m settled.’

He walked her out, leaving with her. ‘I have a meeting with another client this morning. I’ll be starting on your case later today. Don’t hesitate to call if you’re threatened again.’ With a businesslike nod, he started off in the opposite direction from where she parked her car.

Adele walked to her car, parked in the alley around the corner.

She had the keys in the lock when she felt someone behind her. Looking up, she saw the face reflected in the window glass. The face from her nightmares. She opened her mouth to scream, but all that emerged was a hoarse cry as excruciating pain overwhelmed her.

A knife. In my back
. Her hands scrabbled for the window.
Fight
. She turned, staggering, looking her nightmare in the eye for the first time since that day. Rage exploded and she lunged. Then fell to her knees.

Dully she looked down. The knife was now embedded in her gut. The pain came a millisecond later. ‘I’m going to die,’ she mumbled.

‘Yes, you will.’

Adele looked up, her vision dimming. ‘Goddamn you,’ she choked. ‘I had a life. I made myself a life.’

The knife was pulled free, wiped clean on Adele’s jacket. ‘That was the problem.’

Adele barely felt the shoe that shoved into her shoulder, pushing her face down into the asphalt.

Allie
. She’d never hold her baby again.

She watched as her purse was stripped from her arm, unable to lift her head. Unable to do anything to stop this.
Just like that day
.

Her car started behind her and she could see the taillights from the corner of her eye, blurred through her tears. Adele was alone.
So glad Allie wasn’t with me
. She tried to claw her way to the street. But everything went dark.

Thursday, April 7, 8.50
A.M
.

‘This is the place,’ Stevie said, stopping at the crime-scene tape strung around the area on the edge of the woods near the nursing home.

JD walked around the perimeter, then ducked under the tape, staring down at the bloodstained ground. ‘The sniper stood here,’ he said. ‘It’s the only place with a clear path to the lightpost he shot instead of Smith.’

‘He told Grayson that he missed on purpose.’

‘Oh, he totally missed on purpose,’ JD said. ‘A sniper with cataracts could have made that shot. The shot that killed Elena Muñoz was a halfway decent challenge. This would have been child’s play.’ He crouched to study the blood left behind. ‘There were two guys, the sniper and the bomber. I’m assuming the blood is the bomber’s since the sniper was alive enough to call Grayson.’

‘I assumed the same. CSU took samples of the blood, but it’ll be tomorrow before we have a result. The bomb tech sent me a list of cons who’ve used the same kind of fuse. I’ve got DNA lined up for comparison.’ She looked toward the road. ‘At some point the sniper figures out that the bomb’s been set. When? And how?’

‘At least after Grayson drove away. If he knew beforehand, he would have stopped the car with the bullet to a tire instead of waiting to call him on the phone.’

‘But why shoot at Grayson, meaning to miss?’ she asked. ‘Why the charade?’

‘Somebody was watching him? Maybe he knew the other guy was here.’ JD rose. ‘Grayson’s heard the sniper’s voice before?’

‘He’s sure he has, but can’t remember where.’ Stevie ducked under the tape and stood beside JD, looking down at the bloodstains. ‘It’s heavier in patches.’

‘Whoever got shot lay here bleeding for a while.’ JD pointed. ‘Arm, arm, and knee?’

The two of them looked up when CSU’s Drew Peterson approached. ‘There was a fourth shot to the head. There’s brain matter right here.’ Drew pointed to a marker. ‘We found three bullets in the ground. I sent them to Ballistics.’

‘The survivor dragged the injured guy,’ Stevie said, walking along the path created in the leaves and dirt, head bent to get a closer look. Something caught her eye. It was almost white. She crouched to see more. ‘You guys done here? Can I dig a little?’

‘We’ve taken pictures. We haven’t gone over that area with tweezers yet.’ Drew crouched beside her, a sifter in his hand. He scooped the dirt surrounding the white paper into the sifter and shook until all that remained was a wallet-size photograph.

‘Could it have been dropped here before last night?’ JD asked.

Drew shook his head. ‘We had so much rain the day before yesterday. Had it been dropped before yesterday morning, it would be falling apart by now, but it’s intact. Looks like a little girl. An old picture, from the hair and clothes she’s wearing.’

Pulling on gloves, Stevie carefully lifted the photograph and held it to the light.

And frowned. She’d seen this picture before. ‘No,’ she murmured.

‘Who is it?’ JD asked.

She said nothing, unable to believe her eyes. A sick feeling grabbed her gut. Disbelief. Pure unadulterated denial. She turned the picture over, devastated when she saw
Cherri
scrawled in the corner in a childish hand. Her throat closed.

‘Who?’ JD asked again. Kindly.

‘Her name is Cherri,’ she whispered. ‘Cherri Dandridge.’

Drew’s indrawn breath was sharp. ‘Dandridge? Silas? Not possible.’

JD’s brows knit. ‘Silas? As in your old partner? This is his daughter?’

‘Yeah.’ Stevie rose, the photo in her numb hand. ‘I can’t believe this, JD. Not Silas. It can’t be.’

‘Could he have made that shot Tuesday? Could he have hit Elena Muñoz?’

Stevie nodded dully. ‘With his eyes closed. He carried this picture around with him everywhere. He lost Cherri a year before we got partnered up. Murder. I lost Paul and our son a few months later. Also murder. Silas helped me go on.’ Her voice trembled, broke. ‘I won’t believe he’d kill in cold blood.’

‘There’s got to be another explanation,’ Drew said. ‘I knew Silas Dandridge my whole career. He’d never do this.’

‘Then let’s go talk to him,’ JD said. ‘Find out how a picture of his daughter ended up in this crime scene.’

‘He always carried it,’ Stevie murmured. ‘In his shirt pocket.’ Her cell began to ring. It wasn’t a number she recognized so she let it go to voicemail. ‘He has another child. Violet’s a year older than Cordelia.’ Her cell phone began to ring again, the same number. Irritated, she answered. ‘Mazzetti.’

‘Stevie. It’s Grayson.’

Stevie closed her eyes. How could she tell Grayson what she’d found? He’d sworn he’d heard the man’s voice before. If it was Silas . . .
God, it can’t be Silas
. But if it was, Grayson would know his voice. And Silas wouldn’t let Grayson die. That much fit.

‘You got a new number,’ she said tonelessly.

For a moment all she could hear was road noise, the honking of a horn in the background. Then Grayson’s heavy sigh. ‘I know who he is, Stevie.’

The tone of his voice had her heart breaking. ‘So do I,’ she whispered.

‘I’m sorry, Stevie,’ Grayson said. ‘I’m so damn sorry. How do you know?’

‘He was here. At the nursing home. He dropped a photo of his daughter.’ Her eyes burned. ‘How do
you
know? Did you remember?’

‘Yes, finally. Paige found a TV news clip where he was talking, so I could be sure before I told you. It . . . it was him, Stevie.’

A sob shook her. ‘No. How could he? He killed that poor woman, Grayson.’

‘And probably Delgado.’

Stevie thought about the scene, the blood all over the Dora the Explorer wallpaper. The note on the mirror. And the gun dumped near the Muñoz family home. And her devastation trebled. ‘He framed the Muñoz brothers.’

‘I know. He had a daughter. Cherri.’

She looked at the photo she held. ‘She died, years ago.’

‘Eight years ago Cherri had armed robbery charges against her dropped. The stolen goods were found in another woman’s bedroom closet.’

‘Like Ramon,’ she murmured.

‘Yes. Cherri’s attorney also represented Ramon Muñoz. Somehow Silas got pulled into this. I don’t know how or why, but that he framed someone for the Delgado murder isn’t contrary to his MO.’

A terrible calm settled on her shoulders. ‘We need to find him. I’ll put out a BOLO.’

JD tapped her shoulder. ‘Can we use his daughter to draw him? Violet, I mean.’

‘I think she’s his granddaughter,’ Grayson said, hearing JD’s question. ‘Cherri was pregnant when she was murdered.’

‘He never told me that. I only knew that he and Rose adopted a baby shortly after Cherri’s death. I wonder what else I didn’t know.’ She thought about what Grayson had said the night before. That he had some things to tell her. Personal things. ‘I wonder what else I don’t know about
you
.’

‘Let’s meet, later. For lunch. I’ll tell you then. I need you to know. What are you going to do about Silas?’

‘Find him,’ she said coldly. ‘And if he doesn’t have one hell of a good alibi, I’ll cuff him and bring him in like anyone else. I’ll call you when I know something.’

Thursday, April 7, 9.10
A.M
.

Grayson tapped his hands-free earpiece, disconnecting with another sigh. Paige had been watching his face, compassion on hers.

‘She already knew?’ she asked. ‘How?’

‘Silas dropped a picture of Cherri at the nursing-home crime scene last night.’ He drew a breath. ‘She cried. I haven’t heard her cry since Paul and her son were killed.’

‘She’s survived worse than this,’ Paige said kindly. ‘She’ll make it.’ She patted his arm. ‘You said we were going to see party guests. Where do we start?’

‘With Brendon DeGrace. He was Rex’s best friend then. I found him yesterday afternoon. He works at a brokerage downtown. But first, we’re going to see my mother.’

‘Oh. Any chance that Joseph was discreet about how he found us this morning?’

He glanced over at her, found her cheeks appealingly rosy. ‘Not a prayer,’ he said.

‘Hell. I was afraid of that.’

‘She already likes you. You’ll be fine.’ He paused, trying to organize the details in his mind. ‘How did you find out that Ramon’s attorney committed suicide?’

‘The receptionist at the law firm told me Bob Bond was deceased when I called to make an appointment with him about Ramon. I pulled his death certificate to be sure she wasn’t lying to me. It said “suicide”.’

‘Do you know how he did it?’

She looked surprised. ‘No, why?’

‘Because Bond would have been a loose end, like Sandoval. Who committed suicide, too. Supposedly.’

She opened her laptop, did a search. ‘Here’s an article published the day after Bond’s death. He was found hanging from his bedroom ceiling. Bedsheets.’

‘Like Sandoval.’

‘Exactly like Sandoval. We could ask the ME to review the autopsy reports. See if there were any similarities.’

‘I’ll ask them if you look up the number. I had the MEs in my contact list, but I’ve only reset a few contacts in the new phone.’

She looked up the number and dialed. ‘Morgue on line one, sir,’ she deadpanned.

He was almost smiling when the phone was answered by a receptionist. ‘Dr Mulhauser, please,’ he said.

‘He’s not in today. Can I put you through to his voicemail?’

‘No, I need to talk to a
live
person.’ Paige cleared her throat and he realized what he’d said. ‘I mean a doctor, in person. Not voicemail. Is Dr Trask in?’

‘She is.’ The receptionist sounded as if she were chuckling. ‘Let me transfer you.’

A few rings later his call was picked up. ‘This is Dr Trask. How can I help you?’

Trask worked more with Daphne, but the times Grayson had dealt with her he’d found her to be smart and efficient. And less of a bureaucrat than her counterparts. That she was engaged to Stevie’s partner JD made her trustworthy. ‘It’s Grayson Smith.’

‘Well, hello there. I hear you were nearly our guest last night.’

Thinking about what could have happened still made him flinch. ‘Too nearly. But that’s not why I’m calling. I was wondering if you knew anything about the recent death of one Denny Sandoval.’

‘He was my case. The guy who supposedly hung himself.’

‘You don’t think he did?’

‘No. He had a lot of barbiturates in his system. I don’t think he could have stood up, much less put his own head through a noose. I think he was dead before he was hung. But he was strangled first, so it makes it hard to say.’

‘Your best guess?’

‘He was drugged, repeatedly asphyxiated, strangled, then hung. I’m ruling it homicide based on the barbiturate levels alone. I just have to finish the paperwork.’