Notorious (3 page)

She picked up the book and read the inside cover.

“Max?”

She looked up and saw Jodi O’Neal, Kevin’s sister. She only recognized her from a photo on the Internet; the last time she’d seen Jodi, the girl had been six. Now she was nineteen—the same age Max had been when she left Atherton. What Max hadn’t seen in the photo was that Jodi had Kevin’s big brown eyes, the kind of eyes that shout honesty.

“Hello, Jodi. I’m sorry I’m late. My flight was delayed.”

Tears brimmed in Jodi’s eyes. The girl took Max’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you so much. I wasn’t positive you’d come, I know you and Kevin had problems.”

“I haven’t spoken to Kevin in twelve years. I came because you asked.”

Jodi bit her lip. “I waited to take my break until you got here. Do you have time for the café? Coffee?”

“I have as much time as you need.”

They walked next door and took a table outside. Atherton was thirty minutes south of San Francisco, and it was always warmer here than in the city. Max took off her blazer and hung it over the back of her chair. A well-established oak tree in the middle of the courtyard provided filtered light on their table. It looked exactly the same the last time Max had been here, when her cousin Thea married Duncan Talbot the second, Andy’s cousin, two years ago. She’d flown in the day before the wedding, and was on a plane back to New York the morning after.

Jodi chatted aimlessly about working at the bookstore while going to college at the California College of the Arts. She took the train to the city three days a week for classes.

Max hadn’t come home just because Jodi asked. It was the way she’d asked her. As much what she’d said as what she didn’t say.

She’d said she didn’t believe that Kevin committed suicide, but she didn’t tell Max why she didn’t believe the police report.

After the waitress brought them coffee and cake, Max said, “I read everything you sent me. There’s nothing in the newspaper or initial police report that indicated Kevin was murdered.”

Jodi cringed at the word, or maybe it was Max’s blunt statement. She needed a lighter touch. She’d just come off an investigation where being direct was expected and, in fact, necessary to find answers. Jodi was a survivor, one of the walking wounded in a family that was facing the unexpected death of a loved one.

Jodi said, “I know what Kevin’s death looks like, I know what everyone thinks. But I swear, Maxine, he was finally getting his life together. He hasn’t used in years. I mean, he might have drank a bit, but he wasn’t using drugs.”

The files hadn’t indicated anything of the sort. Kevin was a heavy drinker and had been arrested three times on drug possession. Marijuana twice, heroin once. He’d done six months in prison for the last bust. During the death investigation, two ounces of marijuana had been found in his apartment, along with empty whiskey and beer bottles. The only constant in his li for an article I’m writingro>fe seemed to have been a part-time job in a coffee place. Enough to pay his rent, buy his alcohol, and not much more.

Max didn’t tell Jodi any of this, because Jodi must have known the life Kevin lived. She watched the girl twist her long brown hair into knots. Max had many questions, but she didn’t want to lead Jodi down a specific path. When it was clear Jodi was too nervous to talk without prompting, Max asked, “Why did you ask me to come to Kevin’s funeral?”

“You were friends.” Her voice s>

Chapter Three

The Stanford Park Hotel was among the nicest hotels in the area, though it didn’t look elegant from the outside. Set back from the busy El Camino Real, it looked more like condominiums than a luxury hotel. Max had traveled extensively for both business and pleasure, and the Stanford Park, though small, ranked close to the Biltmore Arizona, the Broadmoor in Colorado Springs, and the Villa in Miami, which is why on the rare occasions she came home, she stayed there. If the clerk recognized her name, he didn’t let on. By now her family would know she was in town. Though nestled at the north end of the bustling, sprawling Silicon Valley, Atherton was a small, close-knit community of seven thousand. She’d met Jodi in a public place; inevitably someone who knew someone in her family would have reported in by now.

She needed to decompress before facing the family firing squad. They didn’t need bullets to inflict a mortal wound.

Max sat at the desk in her suite, put her cell phone on the charger, and bo talk to youg questions.”oted up her laptop. She tried to put Lindy’s death certificate out of her head, at least for the time being.

She dealt with her e-mails swiftly. She preferred to use her phone for most communication, but if she had to type more than a short paragraph, she waited until she had her computer up and running.

A message from her current assistant Ginger popped up: You’re impossible to work for. I quit.

It was simple and to the point. If Max wasn’t so angry that Ginger had quit while she was on the road, she’d have admired the brevity of the statement. If she’d been that succinct while on her personal calls, Max might have tolerated more.

Max almost called David, but Ginger had cc’d him in the message and he’d know soon enough. She didn’t want to interrupt his limited time with his daughter. He gave her 24/7 anytime she asked, she could give him a week off.

She opened a browser and ran a quick search on the murder of Jason Hoffman, and clicked on the initial newspaper article dated Monday, December 2.

CONSTRUCTION WORKER SHOT AT ELITE COLLEGE PREP SCHOOL

ATHERTON, CA—Late Saturday night, a construction worker was shot and killed at Atherton College Preparatory Academy off El Camino Real in Atherton.

Jason Hoffman, 23, was found early Sunday morning by school maintenance staff. Atherton Police Department Chief of Police Ronald Clarkson gave a brief statement that the Menlo Park Police Department’s Homicide Squad was taking the lead in the investigation, but Atherton PD would remain closely involved. As of now, the police have no leads.

“It’s still extremely early in the investigation,” media representative, Officer Donna Corbett, said. “Our department is fully invested in solving this brutal murder and will devote all necessary resources and staff. Atherton Police Chief Clarkson has graciously offered his department’s resources as well.”

Atherton, a small, wealthy, residential community with no commercial business within its borders, maintains a large and impressive police force, but defers capital crimes to Menlo Park in a MOI that was recently renewed for three years. Atherton boasts one of the lowest crime rates in California. Hoffman is the first homicide within the town limits in thirteen years. The last murder, the strangulation of high school senior Lindy Ames, also occurred on the ACP campus.

Hoffman, a lifelong resident of San Carlos, had recently graduated from Virginia Tech with a degree in architecture. He began working full time for Evergreen Construction, a family business owned by his mother, Sara Robeaux Hoffman, and her brother, Brian Robeaux.

Evergreen is contracted to build the new 80,000-square-foot sports complex, partnering with Cho Architectural Design where Hoffman had interned for three consecutive summers. Because the project was only recently green-lighted, security was not in place that might have prevented or recorded Hoffman’s murder.

Hoffman was shot twice and according to the medical examiner’s office, he died instantly. A full report will be released by MPPD when available.

The police had made no public comment regarding the murder other than the usual nonstatement. After skimming the press coverage for the subsequent weeks she determined that the police believed it was a robbery and Hoffman an unfortunate victim. There were no follow-ups by the press, other than a funeral notice. That was often the case with suburban media. have a lot of work to do.”e3 Menlo Park didn’t often rate the dailies from San Jose or San Francisco unless it was a major investigation or event; a homicide, though tragic, wouldn’t get play unless it was high profile—or someone like Max came in and pushed.

This was the point where she wished she had a competent assistant who could pull together the preliminary information about the homicide investigation, Evergreen Construction, the family, Jason Hoffman, and any connection they had with Atherton Prep, including scouring social media for possible angles. Ginger had been the queen of social media—if she wasn’t gossiping on the phone, she was posting pictures on Instagram or pithy comments on Twitter. Max had often wondered how she could condense her incessant chatter into 140 characters or less.

Ginger’s ability to pull useful data from the Internet was diminished by her social life. But at least she knew how to type and answer the phone. Ashley burst into tears anytime Max looked at her. And Josh? He had been the bane of her existence the three weeks he was in the office.

Max pushed the whiny, sycophantic, incompetent jackass far from her mind because she couldn’t deny the shimmer of excitement in her stomach, and she wasn’t going to let the loss of yet another assistant keep her from this case. Hoffman’s murder was exactly the type of case she liked to investigate. Almost five months cold. Not so long ago that there couldn’t still be evidence and information to unearth, but long enough that she could move around the investigation without initially irritating law enforcement.

She had one burning question that hadn’t been answered in any of the press reports: Why was Jason Hoffman at the construction site late on a Saturday night?

She glanced down at her hands and realized that while she’d been reading the articles about Jason Hoffman, she’d scraped the polish off her left thumb. Dammit, she’d just had a manicure in Miami. She pulled out her nail repair kit, but then David’s name popped up on her cell phone.

“Did you get the message from Ginger?” David asked when she answered.

“I might start to like her.”

David laughed.

“You talked to her? I thought you were supposed to be the nice one,” Max said.

“I was. She didn’t like an assignment that might require her working through the weekend.”

Max had found that to be a problem with many of her assistants. Intellectually, she understood that most people didn’t intend to give up their social life when they took an office management job, but Max didn’t work nine to five. She tried to do her part to give grieving families justice after the horrific loss of their loved ones. The cops sometimes can’t—or won’t—search for answers because they’re too overwhelmed or uninterested. Some cases fall through the cracks—like Jason Hoffman—and someone like her can dig it out and shine light on the evidence once again. Is it too much to ask that an assistant actually work when needed instead of traipsing off for a skinny latte every hour on the hour? Max had made it clear when she hired each of her assistants that the hours would be difficult, but she’d make up for it with generous paid vacations and flexibility.

She told David, “Call Ben and have him line up interviews for Friday. That’ll give him enough time to weed out the idiots, the criers, and the lazies.”

“You’ve already decided to stay and help the Hoffmans for obstruction of justicero>.”

He hadn’t asked a question, so she didn’t answer it. She put David on speaker and quickly started working on her nail. She had it down to a science. “Right before Kevin committed suicide, he sent Jodi a copy of Lindy’s death certificate. No explanation. I’m going to the clerk’s office on Monday to pick up a certified copy. There’s something strange about Kevin’s actions the week before he died.”

Max had been a crime reporter for nine years. She never assumed that any copy of an official document was real.

“If you need anything before Sunday, let me know.”

“I’m not going to stomp on your vacation.”

He laughed.

“Okay, much. How’s Emma?”

“It’s not even one, Max. She’s in school until three.”

She should have realized that.

“When she gets home, put all this aside. Get ready for your trip. I wish I could go.”

“You wouldn’t be able to relax on the beach, though you need it.”

“Like you can?”

“I’ll be snorkeling, hang gliding, and hiking. Best way to relax.”

Like her, David was a workaholic. But he also had a kid, and she wanted him to enjoy the rare time alone with his daughter. Max never had a dad, even a part-time dad like David. When she was younger, she would have given anything to spend time with her father. To know him. Of course, she’d have had to know his real name. Her mother never told her the truth before she walked out, leaving her with grandparents who barely acknowledged her existence before they were confronted with her care and maintenance. Max had to admit, for all their faults, her grandparents had never made her feel like the bastard child she was. To them, warts and all, blood always won out.

“Tell your beautiful daughter I said hi. Don’t say anything to Brittany, because what I want to say wouldn’t be polite.”

“When has that stopped you in the past?”

“You’d be surprised how often I bite my tongue.”

She hung up and finished reading her e-mail while the new polish on her thumb dried. One-handed, she dealt with anything that couldn’t wait until Monday.

Thirty minutes later, she stood and stretched, then unpacked and stowed her suitcase in the closet. She spent so much time in hotels that she had routines she religiously followed, and that included making the room her home whether she was staying for two days or two weeks.

A shower would refresh her and wash the travel grime from her body. She hung her favorite turquoise-colored sheath in the bathroom so the steam could refresh the cotton and remove faint wrinkles. She stripped and stepped under the hot spray. Through the glass partition she sighed at the oversized bathtub with massage jets. Pampering would have to wait until her familial duty was complete. By that time, she would certainly need a hot bath and glass of wine.